The bloke from a comedy show is going
undercover selling heroin in a drama
and his beard is the day I first grew mine.
I haven’t seen my cheek skin
since that day I thought I could fly.
The bloke from a comedy show just said
I’ve been on the run before,
there’s no peace in it
and words have never fit a mouth less.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

I like walking into cafés and wiping my feet
on welcome mats with the café’s name printed
on them and drinking from cups
with the café’s name printed on them
and wiping chocolate biscuit crumbs
from my beard with napkins
with the café’s name printed on them
and sitting on chairs with the café’s name
printed on them and thanking people
with the café’s name printed on them
because it feels like love and eating
a stick of rock with the face you feel safe
with stained through the middle.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

It is nighttime,
there is a row of red lights
shimmering like I’m squinting.
They sit below clouds
the black sky won’t let me see.
They sit on top of buildings
I have not been inside.
They sit in the middle of a city
I stand outside of in the day.
It is nighttime,
there is a row of red lights
and countless other things
I don’t have time to talk about.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

The cheesy chips sit
under thick gravy.
Nothing of consequence is
on the TV. A plastic Noah is
in my pocket, I can feel
his fake straw hat. I bet
he doesn’t worry
when his animals are sleeping.
Not everyone knows
when the floods are coming.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

I took a trip to the sock drawer
and let a few old friends talk
about drama I can’t even remember.
A dour grey number looked at me
and did its best to smile with no teeth.
It had fingerprints of hikes and puddles
and midnight train stations
and unfamiliar streets with names
that vaguely ring a bell
stained to its thin spine. I didn’t say anything,
because a fresh pack of unopened
running socks wouldn’t stop
calling me names.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

An oatmeal cookie-furred cat
runs into the local shoe shop.
Poor thing, says a stranger
with a smile as deep as a bath tub.
They have to pay twice as much as us.
The high street has a softness to it today.
Bakeries are giving away the smell of bread
for free, speed bumps are saying Thank you,
cafes are asking people how their nights went.
You’re in my arms eating raisins
oblivious to the fact you were a witness
to the greatest joke of all time.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

A child picks up
his frog-green bike helmet
and charges head first
into a concrete bollard
just to try something new.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

We’ve pulled up
next to a community football pitch
surrounded by a 20-foot cage
to keep the fun locked in.
You are covered in blueberries
and cheese that lived inside you
only one minute ago. We’re cleaning
your car seat, we’re taking you
out of your clothes, we’re sorting your hair.
You are pointing at the forensic team
in their PPE treading gently over evidence
behind police tape on a patch of tarmac.
A kid kicks a football into the metal wall,
you clap.

© Carl Burkitt 2022