Keys in The Lake

by Maddie DePuy

It’s that 

lake-flicker-breeze-forrest green

soundtrack rolls-firework-splash 

feeling. 

You’re eighteen and only here till August 

and there’s only 86 afternoons 

86 chances to fall in love before autumn. 

You know what you’re looking for 

the thick grass under your toes curled 

kind of thing 

late-night-fire-smoke and the stars 

kind of fling

thinking about that 

throw your sunglasses off the back of the Jetski kind of 

drive the boat wild 

kind of 

kiss.

The way twilight rolls through mountain air 

like a glance. 

That clean rush of drying in the sun 

after a swim in fresh water, 

terrycloth and droplets on 

pink plastic floats 

88 degrees 

and the taste of cherry chocolate ice cream

inhibition in the vicious wake 

billowing from back of the speedboat,

a lose your keys in the lake kind of summer 

kind of love.

But then you get it 

and the rush is never clean 

no matter how cool it is 

because it’s that 

air conditioner breeze-on sunburnt shins

kind of cold

kind of artificial. 

Because when you lose your keys in the lake 

eventually spontaneity gives way to necessity 

and you have to find them 

or buy new ones 

and isn’t it heartbreaking that 

the flurry of whimsy is

inherently temporary 

and heartbreak somehow always flings itself into the middle

of your no-strings-attached kind of summer 

kind of love.