You should see the chips
javelining their way to the fryer,
pole vaulting into newspaper,
front crawling to bellies and beyond.
You should see the chips:
gold medals on dinner tables,
a bit of weekly structure,
something for people to talk about.
You should see the chips:
years of hard work,
pride on street corners,
a brief moment of I can do it.
You should see the chips:
they were just a packet of chips.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

You walk like you are Mr Steps Freely,
the inventor of walking.
Hips roll, knees bend, shin bones
point to the mountains
and toes curl like like Quavers.
I will never stand in your way.
You shovel Veggie Sticks into your mouth
as if your face needs a friend.
There will be a day you look back at us
unsure if we’ll stand in your way.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

People do what they want
or don’t care about anything
or don’t have the time
or get preoccupied
or get lost in space
or are melting on the inside
or simply try their best.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

They’re talking about the width of the doors.
They’re talking about the box for the lights.
They’re talking about Every bloody year.
They’re talking about cold turkey sandwiches,
the price of goose fat, the smell of Burger King.
They’re talking about socks and sherry
and the smell of Boxing Day grass.
They’re talking about that bloke’s shoes.
They’re talking about hydration.
They’re waving at a toddler standing
in the way. They’re talking
about next year and doing it all again.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Traffic lights are too high up
for the invisible driver to spot.
It doesn’t matter, there a fewer cars
than dinosaurs in Christmas jumpers
on the street right now. The remote control
monster truck is red and orange like fire
or the centre of a toddler’s eyeball.
A scooter with a middle aged man
slugs its way toward the park.
Morning! his mouth tries
as the clock in the top left of our video call
to a pair of surprise Jack in a boxes
says Afternoon.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Keep running. Get your knees
up past your ears. Punch thick air.
Breathe in through your nose
and out of your mouth. Let the tarmac
know you are there. Show the buses
you are made from metal and fuel.
Tell your skin it is lucky
to be wrapped around you. Run,
whatever that means to you.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Have a rest. Grab a coffee.
Pop your lips around some pastry.
Slalom around Wet Floor signs.
Shake your head at chocolate prices.
Watch people rubbing their eyes
and wonder where they’re running to
or running from. Grab a coffee. Have a rest.
Imagine you’re on a new planet.
Talk to someone. Smile at someone.
Think about where you’re running.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

We watch the future
fall
and we melt
to the heat
of screams
designed
to keep us alive.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

I went to your funeral today
while you were cooking fajitas.
You chopped red onions
and I let the shower water
trickle down my face
as I gently nodded at everyone
arriving in ill-fitted black suits
and hats as wide as wholemeal wraps
and the words of a future speech formed
in my head like shampoo suds in curly hair.
The red flesh of a pepper looks sour
on the days we have no hot water.

© Carl Burkitt