I submitted this very incomplete poem to the Deadlines for Writers site this morning. The assignment was right in the middle of my wheelhouse and should have been a piece of cake for me - using rhyme, alliteration, and/or assonance; I just didn't work at it until the last minute.
Which me am I today? I ask.
I really need to know.
If I’m the me that hates to cook,
How will dinner go?
If I’m the me who always does
More than I have to do,
We’ll feast on caviar and prawns
Like kings, and counts, and dukes.
The me who likes the finer things
Will wear an evening gown.
The me who lives for comfort will
Slouch unkempt into town.
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