Prufrock and why nobody should lettuce love that dirty water.
A few days ago I posted the first few lines of an adaptation of a poem: The love song of J. Romaine Lettuce: Lettuce go then, E. coli, While evenly spread out your counts are high Make a patient etherized upon a table; Lettuce go, through certain half-soiled sheets, The muttering retweets … I did …