The confessional poets of the
fifties and sixties wanted you
to know all about their despondence
and what they thought of the
holocaust.

I’m not really that deep.
I don’t carry a leather satchel full
of international newspapers
and I don’t listen to
talkback radio.

What I can express in words though
is simple and to the point.
I find your utter ambivalence toward me
as irritating as undercooked
chicken.