Friends of mine are becoming Heads

I remember when they were bodies
without name badges. They had
the kind of arms you could bend with until
speakers died, legs longer than beaches,
hands built for bags of Sunday night reductions.
Our skulls were yet to be invented.
We would listen to people smarter than us
talk about things smarter than us
and see how many peanuts we could fit
into our belly buttons. I sit behind a desk
and imagine fresh suits asking shoulders
that once helped Bournemouth back to its feet
how they got to where they are today.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

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