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.

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