My IED
Should I love my IED
That goes off so suddenly
Not hidden underneath,
But for all to openly see?
It’s a love-pain in reverse,
Seldom often under earth,
Hidden horrors underneath,
When strangers plant IEDs.
The victims are living canvases
At the hands of angry “terrorists”
Whose bleeding bleeds through
The paining of others,
But what about their mothers?
The seed that is planted in
Love, lust, joy or hope
Despite life contraries
And love of Jove;
Living succeeds not in killing
With IEDs but from those
That succeed their decaying faiths
And dying fathers.
Legs cut off from the knees
No noses, hands or feet,
Or perfectly intact
Brains forever in
A “new crazy” retreat.
But should I love my IED?
The one that created me
Placed as a seed
Underneath
In a womb
In hope
Or in lust,
Or, I wish, love;
But when daddy is an IED,
Where the pain is tucked
Underneath
Where the bomb is loved
From up above
Who then is the terrorist
To love?
Is it daddy, mommy,
Or thee?
Earl Yarington (LMSW) is a social worker and school bus driver. He taught literature and writing for nearly 20 years and spent 3 years working in forensic social work internships with offending populations, including work at Delaware Correctional facilities and the Federal Bureau of Prisons. He has a PhD in literature and criticism (feminism/women writers) from Indiana University of Pennsylvania, Master of Social Work from Louisiana State University, and an interdisciplinary Master of Liberal Arts from Arizona State University, where he studied the impact of visual image and girlhood in media/social media. He also has an MA and BS in English from SUNY College at Brockport. The opinions and analyses that Earl writes are his own and are not necessarily the positions or views of his employers, the agencies he supports, or that of his colleagues. Reach out with comments or questions.