The teeth of a high-rise skyline
are sitting in front of cheekboned
hilltop background and behind
an eyes shut furniture shop foreground.
The sun is a red pressure circle
on an elbow that’s been resting on a knee
during an overly long sit down toilet stop.
The cars are feet looking for somewhere to go
on a road that is outstretched skin,
sometimes hot, sometimes cold,
sometimes desperate to be replaced.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

floating in the living room,
bouncing to laughter,
stronger than we
could have imagined.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Written using sentences found by searching
for ‘blue’ in my WhatsApp search bar

I’m a blue ass fly,
desperate for blueberries,
captivated by the wide eyed blue thing.
They are wonderful blue cheese mushrooms.
Does anyone have a Bluetooth speaker?
Just put them behind the blue bin.
If they are blue, then worry.
Bluergh.
I am the blue one.
The blue is really great.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

They tread lightly,
look around corners
before walking through doors,
fiddle with their tails,
avoid eye contact,
never step under ladders,
sit with their backs against the wall
to see danger entering the room
and show the rough side of their shoes
only when they’re ready.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

We don’t follow the sign.
I try to think about the youngest potato
I’ve ever seen and have no idea.
I’ve never got my hands dirty.
I’ve never crouched down
and pulled a potato out of the ground
with gloves I imagine to be orange
and torn at the wrist
because they’re one size too small.
I used to know someone who owned an allotment.
He told me, Never be afraid of an old potato.
I would shudder at the filth under his fingernails
as he took a ready salted crisp to his lips.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

We are a pair of detectives
tailing someone down
the rough road of Dog Lane.
Your coffee is gaddamn rocket fuel
and my moustache is covered
in the dust of salt and vinegar Pringles.
My knuckles are white,
your nose is the crow flying.
I can’t stop squinting,
the sun is just the wrong height
bouncing off the windscreen;
your sunglasses resist the I told you so.
I don’t know how we got here
and I will never, ever question it.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

He’s sitting with one leg over the other
on a chewing gum stained bench
outside the Tesco toilets
writing in a greetings card.
His black shoes are shining
brighter than the tiles under the wet floor sign.
The hand drawn balloon does not suggest death
but the calming curls of a cursive take care
could be for you.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

His belt buckle was too polished.
He ate Hob Nobs with two hands
and only put hotels on Mayfair.
He drank whiskey in the dark,
rolled towels instead of folding them,
carried tooth picks in a metal case.
He liked to say things like, No bother
and sit on his sofa pretending his skin
was a onesie with a broken zip.
He ate treacle tart for breakfast,
kept his old pager in a shoe box
and read the newspaper every Sunday
just in case he saw himself
in a life he could live.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

I’m watching
an extra in the background
of a TV show
I don’t even know the name of.
He looks lost.
He’s holding a cup of tea
like it’s real,
like it’s the only thing
he’s held in months.
The actor with lines
is wearing a leather jacket
that doesn’t suit him at all.

© Carl Burkitt 2021