Nobody Wants A Happy Poem

Nobody wants to know about the summer I turned sixteen,
and the heatwave that left us lying in long grass
like straw,
in heaven, in paradise,
burning.

And nobody wants to know about last Christmas,
and the way the sky looks at four in the morning,
when you're in love.

And nobody wants to know what happened on the night
I named as my memorable date for my bank account.
So if all anybody wants is gloom,
I'll keep that as a secret.