Sciatica Poem by Tony Jolley

The heavy amour rolled through my Poland late last night
Gouging and spurting flesh like mud under its tracks,
Scouring deep welts down my flanks,
Spitting out gristle, guts and gouts of blood
To seep back and fester, black-red and congealing, in the ruts
Whilst the feral me
Convulsed in agony
Transfixed in the cross-hairs
Of the unending lines of Stukas
As they steep-dived their unmistakable dihedrals
At the base of my spine
Pulling out only at the point calculated as most critical to my pain
Dropping their singular back-busters
To explode in my lumbar
And concatenate and concentrate their concussions
Down each leg and back
In some murderous, magnified, sadistic echo.

No defence,
Not even a pain-killing wall was left standing....

....It finished only when they were done with me
When there wasn't much left of me.