We are peacocking in the gym changing rooms
about our bad backs. You say you couldn’t bend
down to put your socks on this morning.
I say I couldn’t even get out of bed this morning.
You say you didn’t even get out of bed this morning
and this conversation is actually a dream.
I say it’s not even a real dream, it’s a dream
inside a poem and you’re not even real.
You say that explains the square, stubbled jaw
on your skull and the fact you are still alive.

Carl Burkitt 2024