This bar of soap
has been in my mouth
for far too long.
Foul words do not become encapsulated by bubbles,
nor does bubble language follow intrinsic guidelines as much
as it may be visceral.
In all actuality it is simple chalk
on simple sidewalks
that wait for gray clouds to release their collective and
wash away the different
colors into a storm drain
that teenagers throw garbage into.

At this point it's knowing
which soap tastes the best,
and hoping and praying that
a single curly hair is not lingering.