My head is a caravan parked across your stomach

and your knuckles are summer rain
hitting against the roof.
I’ve never taught you how to punch,
it’s as natural as skin.
There will come a time
when you ask me questions
about where I go on a Monday night
and I will say
Sometimes we are our own storm
and a stranger’s ears can be umbrellas

and you will probably ask for a Cheestring.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

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