The Last Poet Poem by Percy Dovetonsils

the last poet

marched the last simile
to a barren hillside
made it kneel
and fired a round
into its neck.

It collapsed
like a….
like a….
like a….

The last poet
gave the last metaphor
a death sentence
and executed it
by the banks
of the river of no…
of the river of no ret….
of the river of no retu…..

The last poet
strangled the last
metonym
in a fit of rage
in a seedy apartment
where Hobok………….
Hobo....
Ho.......
stares hungrily
across the Hudson.

But the last synecdoche,
a very beautiful figure of speech,
fled frantically
from her pursuer,
crying,
“I’m not a metonym.
I’m what I am.
And twenty million Ipods
cannot do me in.”