I’m minding my own business in B&Q
pretending I know the name of the parts
of a lawn mower my son is pointing at.
What’s that? What’s that? What’s that?
Out of the toilet aisle emerges a man.
He’s walking towards us with a dog I’ve seen
before. My toddler is laughing at the grass
collection box of the Bosch Rotak model.
The man reaches us. He’s wearing a hat
I’ve drunkenly complimented before.
We don’t know each other in the daytime.
Hello mate, he nods, like every time
I walk into the local pub.
He has an arm around a woman
he’s told me is the reason he is alive
after five stouts on his solo table.

© Carl Burkitt 2023