You are in a Premier Inn bathroom doing your hair.
You’ve left the door open so you can hear the TV.
I am on the bed wearing my dark blue suit

trousers, my unpolished brown shoes,
my too-tight, white, long sleeve shirt.
I’ve tied my floral tie but I need you

to put my grandad’s cuff links in because
I’m barely coping on my own. I’m trying my best
to remember the names of all the people

I will meet for the first time later. Sertraline
convincing me to trust my small talk for once.
You are desperate to know what Mr Chips is doing.

I tell you his face is floating above some stilettos.
“Head over heels!” you yell, the breeze of
your hairdryer blowing a safe warmth over me.

Carl Burkitt 2026