Mill on the Floss
At least once a day, I’m told,
will help me stay out of this unkind chair,
where I brace and sweat and grind.
String-thing between my teeth,
I do not like you, but if this promise be true
I’ll reconcile in floods of drool.
“Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem about a dull thing that you own, and why (and how) you love it. Alternatively, what would it mean to you to give away or destroy a significant object?”
Is a (poor) reference to George Eliot’s masterpiece too much? I’m drained today, but floss I will, for the alternative is worse.