Why I Write, Part x+215: Midsummer

Now is the midsummer of my discontent.

I grope for AC, but I've nary a vent.

A head-shrinker might call it a minor depression,

But I know that myself, so why schedule a session?

I suppose opinions might vary. Let's see.

Is there a such thing as reverse S.A.D.?

I suspect if there is, it's, at most, at the behest

Of the most very beautiful pharmaceutical reps,

and who doesn't have enough overdiagnosis in their lives?

A hippie would eschew the medical, and say I have “bad vibes,”

But the sixties are over. His argument is irrelevant.

I'm simply writing less, and what I do write doesn't rhyme.

At twenty-eight, am I skiing the back face of my prime?