Never has a group of faces
been waved at as much as theirs.
None of this lot slide
down their morning bannister
directly into their work shoes.
None of them look like Elvis.
These guys look real.
These guys look knackered.
These guys are burning out.
Their stubble is ash, their heads
are chipped helmets and treetops.
Their engine drives into ASDA’s car park
to the sound of eighteen month old
Nee-nah nee-nah nee-nah.
Skin softens. Windows drops.
Gloves wave. Eyes light up for days.

© Carl Burkitt 2022