I am writing this poem about cornflakes

after Brian Bilston

for anyone who is interested
in the make up of a cereal bowl
of a man they never met. He had them
with full fat milk, probably, and used the
heavy spoons that continue to live
in my cutlery drawer
with their fork and knife siblings
that stand with straight backs. They’d salute
if they could but they are civilians
being used for eggs on toast brunches
by people unaware how to talk
about the army, desperate to talk
about him.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

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