The Soldier

There are bullets flying through the air
piercing skin and flesh like the knife of a surgeon,
yet more jagged and rough.
Unsympathetic and unforgiving.
the man ahead takes poise and pulls the trigger.
A flash and it’s in my bones.
Another shot. Two blows.
I feel my ribcage shatter and then a third,
busted pelvis and a fractured spine.
The pain shoots through my cells and I feel them split
like meiosis, one then two. I count them
like the marching steps of my heartbeat
and then it stops.
It is replaced by another pain,
blind panic as I know
I might never see you again.
Might never share the
lustful intimacy of searching
for hidden explosions in your skin,
that you might never run
your winter-weathered fingers
through my hair
the way you did last time
I came home.
and then realisation
seeps into my muscles
like the fragments of war
embedded in my skin
and I feel myself fading
like I’m numb.
and it’s quiet
and it’s cold
despite the
blasting
eastern
heat
and
then
there’s
n