Il fait extremement chaud    he says
a shitty little wrist flick   

to toss his cigarette    into the pool.
Just like him to do so   

an ideal self.
Il literally    sen fous.

A lazy air is let   
into the house.   

The marshes burn    or fly   
with buried light.    Pleasurable things   

now thawed    are within reach.
All summer I crave lemons.   

If I could just    let myself do   
the bad thing.


Ansley Clark is a poet from the Pacific Northwest, now living, teaching, and studying in Boulder, Colorado. Her poems and essays have appeared in or are forthcoming from Sixth Finch, DIAGRAM, Black Warrior Review, Ilk, smoking glue gun, Denver Quarterly, and elsewhere. Her chapbook Geography is forthcoming from dancing girl press in summer/fall 2015.