Just look at my soft tummy,
the way I carry food in plastic bags
and worry about the planet melting,
the end I open a banana,
the dust on my stack of books,
the way I quietly say ‘You’re welcome’
as people walk through a door I’ve held
open when they don’t say ‘Thank you’,
the droop in my shoulders,
they way I should have died 30 years ago
from tonsilitis or an undescended testicle,
the travel toothpaste in my wash bag,
or how I once punched a wall
because spellcheck wasn’t working
on my laptop.

Carl Burkitt 2024