If I’m the one in charge
of locking the door when we leave the flat,
I always put the key in the lock
and shut the door and feel my heart
bounce against my arse hole
in fear I’ve left my keys behind
and locked us out for 7,000 years.
When I feel the magic piece of metal in my hand
it feels like it could open pathways to worlds
where I can sing like Beyoncé, climb walls
like Spider-Man with a jaw like Batman, eat Skips by the skipful without making
my hips full and speak fluent dog.
A key in my hand when I think it’s left behind
is a chance to start over.

© Carl Burkitt 2020