The lollipop man is outside ASDA. He’s swapped
his yellow high visibility jacket and lifesaving lolly
for a faded Man City top and a cigarette.
I nod. He nods. I grab a trolly,
push it like the pram my son no longer needs.
A group of teenagers in difficult to make out
branded hoodies cut in front of me,
knocking the trolley wheels off kilter.
The lollipop man urges them to stop
as he takes a drag of his cigarette
and ushers me through the door.
“Thank you,” I nod. “See you tomorrow,” he nods.

Carl Burkitt 2024