The party machine made that small, decisive click;
that indicates when a part has worn down
and everyone finally admits it.

No drama. Just the quiet swap of one name
for another waiting in the wings,
already practising its posture.

People nodded, half‑expecting it,
half‑pretending they hadn’t been waiting.

And in that unceremonious shuffle
the whole thing managed, somehow,
to shed a Keir.