A Ride by the Lake

I guess it made sense

to ride by the lake

where we'd apparently

fallen in love,

and see it under renovation;

It had seemed so remote,

so real.

 

You'd eaten a clover

and winced with its sour

after failing to blow free

the parachutes of a dandelion.

 

Now the entire lawn

was rolled into bales,

exposing its underside,

clearly a carpet.

 

The trees lay prone,

their roots exposed

as muddy mops of perished wire.

 

Also baskets of little things:

the insects, the dandelions

and yes,

the clovers (It must have tasted bland and rubbery those years ago.).

 

I'd dived naked into the water;

I'd heard you liked spontaneity

and had tried to coax you in;

I couldn't.

(You’d laughed though and fiddled with little things that grew and flew.)

 

I'd free-stroked

and held my breath

for what for you I hoped seemed like

a reckless length of time.

 

Now the lake lay dry;

cleaners swept sediment

from the fibreglass bed 

and attentively 

scrubbed the seams;

I doubt there'd ever been fish.

 

I guess it made sense

to ride by the lake

where we'd apparently

fallen in love,

and see it under renovation;

It had seemed so remote,

so real.