Cold Turkey

He was posted to Basra,
Royal Engineers
Parachute Squadron –
flying high
above the shifting sands.
Knew a thing or two
about explosives
until a landmine
blew him to bits,
while her back home
stacked shelves
part-time at Tesco –
raised the twins.

Washed and ironed sheets
fresh for their beds,
tucked them in at nights,
baked cheese scones
for their teas.
Each evening at six
took a cloth
from the drawer,
set the table for four.
It took her years
to kick the habit.
They called him a hero.
They call her a widow.