Hard Water

The bags are forty pounds of jagged rock,

sweating through the plastic in the humid dark.

I hauled them down to the softener's mouth,

my heart a frantic animal hitting the ribs.

The air in the basement tastes like damp lime.

When I breathed in, the copper arrived,

the sharp, iron tang of a penny on the tongue.

The salt spilled out like a dry, white noise.