Week 14, Improv 2

A really awful improv in the spirit of Jordan's "Charlie Brown in the Dead of Night"

Ariel

No one told you the truth. The song.
You may have heard I was unruly, disrespectful.
They may I have said I wanted legs or the right
to shave. Some squabble over fires and loves.
No, I just wanted the damn salt out of my hair,
to comb the grit and krill from locks untrimmed.
They may have told you of forsaking friendly
fish and turtles—no such thing. They’d rather
groom themselves and sculpt rock formations.
No games of tag or political debates. No musical
endeavors or warfare tactics. Us, we’re lower class,
some trash—One Fins, they call us. It’s not that
I disregarded my home, my waters. I just wanted
to feel the dryness of wood beneath toes and to
throw wishes to the dregs of ocean bottoms.