Empties cleared away, photo albums packed,
Suits and ties mothballed, cardboard boxes stacked.
Sat alone in geometric nightmare,
Phone now silent, no product on his hair,
Blonde bombshell awaits toot from moving van.
Silence so strange now for yesterday’s man.
No need to conjure up instant bluster,
Nor aphorisms ready to muster.
Diary emptied, no meetings today,
Dressing up clothes all safely packed away.
Ah but memories around him do swirl,
The parties, the jokes, too racy to tell,
Daydream turns into winter without snow,
Voice on stairs calls “Boris? It’s time to go.”…….

Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 9th July 2022.