MOAB

I remember that night

the blue blue sky.

Shires on the radio,

wind in our hair.

Sunglasses on

at me she stared.

24 hours later,

up above my head,

parachutes appeared.

The air split open.

Blonde and blitzing,

a B-52 she commandeered.

Oxygen left me;

my ears started ringing.

25 years of weapons testing

used on me in hopes of winning.

I gave a good fight,

but I’m no match 

against 11 tons

of flailing TNT.

I order a drink 

then change my mind.

I think of her - 

the bombshell, the mess 

she made of me and my kind

900 miles away from home,

and what a hold on me. 

Even in her pink and greens,

She’s a walking contradiction.

The Mother of All Bombs

lying in the rubble

of her own addiction.