Hard water makes my hair lose its natural shine.
Its curls, like tendrils on the vine,
become like straw that crunches as I comb
the kinks out, hurl them out to roam
the granite floor like punctuation
or bored bits of annotation
drifting off my page until,
as doodles, they begin to spill
and pool upon the granite floor
until, like some industrial shore,
my doodles lap my toes like dogs.
Obese, they wheeze like feral hogs,
Gilette spines gleaming--fevered dream
that haunts me even as the gleam
of light inside my pupil pulses,
keeping time with my impulses.
This is what hard water does:
Replaces locks with lifeless fuzz.
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