Cathy Barber
Titularly, This is a Very Sad Poem

Autobiographically, I was going through a rough time.
Alliteratively, I was one wasted woman without a way to win in this world.
Onomatopoetically, boom! bam! I was slammed against the wall of my dreams.
Biographically, it was the worst of times.
Phonetically, thingz wur bad.
Hyperbolically, this was the worst thing that had ever happened to anyone in the history
of America, and probably the entire Western hemisphere.
Metaphorically, I was a dead possum with a street sweeper coming straight at me.
In a simile, I'd only feel as dead as the possum but I'd still be me.

The year had started out okay. Life was good (parenthetically things went south
around March).
Poetically, life passes so quickly. The images of everyday
                 are with us like shooting stars. Why,
                 when my love began, did I not hear the way
                 he hinted, even in my arms, wet and spent,
                 that staying was not likely, not likely at all.
Statistically, the odds had been bad.
Philosophically, live and learn.