Captain America is in the chip shop

Jaw like a Pukka pie, scampi eyes,
crispy battered cod hair. He is easily
confusable with the drinks fridge.
A Tuesday cuboid. Refreshing to see.
He’s left his armour at home. His sculpted chest
is tightly wrapped in a red, white and blue
hoody with a star in the middle. His jeans
are dappled in salt stains. I can count four
biceps per arm. Vinegar? What do you think?
He is ready to tear off the rough of his mouth,
peer inside his skull and count the fires
he’s put out today.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s