When Erling Haaland wakes
he is as alive as the sun.
His feet move too fast for slippers
across his bedroom floor,
past the wooden rescue centre,
over the basket of Hot Wheels
on the living room play mat
and into the morning kitchen.
Multicoloured cereals want to be eaten by him.
Milk jumps out of cartons.
Bowls fight for the right
to have spoons dipped in them.
The wind blows kisses through the windows.
His skin grows, lets the muscles below
get stronger than they were yesterday.

Carl Burkitt 2024