After Rob Auton

When I saw the kid with no helmet
taking a selfie while cycling no-handed
down a street with no features
and Pringles were the only crisps
without a Sainsbury’s red-label price drop
and the gravel in the front garden
had more plum-coloured leaves
than the plum-coloured tree
and the voice I could hear through your phone
in the other room delivered news
while the hash browns
stuck to the baking tray in my hand
that was covered in the oven glove
with a dozen pin-sized holes,
I knew the world outside had ended.

© Carl Burkitt 2020