Gravy

After Simon Armitage

And out of the void
poured a man made from gravy.
His muscles felt like old times:
excited for Sundays, eyes waiting
for the opening credits of Heartbeat,
teeth a packet of peanut M&M’s.
The driveway was full of pogo sticks
and the stream flowed with water again.
The sun was a Yorkshire pudding.
The birds were salt and pepper.
The grass was the middle shelf of the oven.
He didn’t care how hot his skin was;
you cannot dissolve what is already liquid.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

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