Last Orders in Lviv

By Matthew Parish Saturday 22 August 2026 The shutters should be down. Instead, the bar Keeps one blue lamp above the bottles lit, As though the war, like rain, had travelled far And missed this cellar. She makes nothing of it. Her mojito sweats beside her bandaged arm, Mint leaves and ice, absurdly clean and green. The barman asks if lifting it does harm. She says, A little. She is twenty-three.…