We stopped for coffee/doughnuts

at a place the bombs had missed

purposely, I suspect. A shack

 

held together by graffiti. We drank

from cups mapped with cracks.

I complained

 

about the lipstick.

‘Sarah’s’ he said, the man wrapped

in stains, ‘stopped a sniper’s slug’.

 

My mind went back

to when my Maura bought it.

It was a year

 

before I packed

her last bits--dropped

them off at the Oxfam shop.