MOAB

by | Nov 15, 2017 | Poetry

The mother of all bombs, Milton says,
was Satan. Child of the devil, I agree.
Who but a fallen Morning Star
could conceive of a nine-meter-long
metal dong  delivered by parachute
dropped into Earth’s exquisite lap
mushroom wasting everything for miles
It felt like the heavens were falling
The earth  like a boat in a storm
My ears were deaf   We thought the end
of the world had come
  You can see it
set to music on the phone in your palm
bombs
                  angels
                           children
                                        sky
                                             London Bridge
Ashes ashes  all fall down

Listen to this poem:


Photo used under CC.

Poem read by Barbara Ungar and recorded by Leanne Ungar.

About The Author

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Barbara Ungar’s sixth book, After Naming the Animals, is forthcoming in June 2023 from The Word Works. Her prior book, Save Our Ship, won the Snyder Publication Prize from Ashland Poetry Press and a Franklin Award from the Independent Book Publishers Association, and was a Distinguished Favorite at the Independent Press Awards. She has work forthcoming or recently published in Scientific American, Crazyhorse, and Small Orange. Her work has been translated into Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and Bulgarian. A professor of English at The College of Saint Rose, she lives in Saratoga Springs, New York. For more details, see www.barbaraungar.net .