but he’s not a fan
of the mango on the cod.
The skin across his bald head
is polished and telling me
I’ve never worked hard enough
to understand things
that have the power
to change the world.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

and I want to introduce you to our food processor.
Create anything from burgers to salads, sauces
to salsas, doughs to desserts.
Chop, mix, puree, slice and grate
even the toughest ingredients
with interchangeable food prep
attachments and stainless-steel blades.
Are you OK? Look out the window.
Watch the birds work out what they are.
Put your fingers against the glass and enjoy
the cold. Pretend the sky is the sea and you’re
a deep sea diver swimming up to the surface
for some much needed fresh air.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Success for you is
folding the moon in half.
It’s holding an entire ocean
on your fingertip, volleying a star
into the top corner, eating the universe.
Success is inventing the square,
creating red, pulling teeth from your skull.
It’s turning a page, bursting lungs,
learning about pigeons, chewing yogurt,
growing a 400 year old nose,
sewing yourself into pockets.
Success is a left foot
knowing what it is, a hand waving,
a face aware that it exists.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

It’s a pretty good bridge.
No trolls. A bit of old looking brick.
It can carry the weight of cars
from one side of the train tracks to the other.
On sunny days people walk over it slowly
and ask each other What kind of tree is that?
There’s something comforting
learning that bridges have names.
I wonder if that means they have parents,
or someone by another title
to look out for them, waiting
as they stretch out
to the other side of town.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

He’s picking blackberries
from the bush behind the train platform.
His t-shirt is park-in-the-sunshine green.
His arms are tongues.
The pockets of his orange shorts
are stuffed like hamster cheeks.
I give him the kind of silent nod
a grown up gives to a grown up
they don’t know when they want
to let them know everything is fine.
He sticks up a juice covered thumb.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

You wave at planes
like you know they are
going somewhere.
You’ve never been
inside the clouds
but you cover the sky
of this house. You make
the sound of an engine
with raspberry lips
and are no longer
fooled by birds.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Eat rice. Fry eggs. Replace the toilet roll. Rotate
between seven different plain black t-shirts.
Put headphones in. Bite fingernails. Buy salt
and vinegar Pringles. Look at the sky. Crack my
neck. Point at squirrels. Teach legs what they were
born to do. Let things get a bit too much. Overhear
strangers and wonder. Count steps as I climb
them. Think about flossing. Make cups of tea.
Think about giraffes. Choose socks. Become dust.
Sit down. Write the eulogies of alive people.
Is that the kind of thing you were thinking?

© Carl Burkitt 2021

There is a NO ENTRY sign
to the left of our building,
double yellow lines in front of it,
a KEEP CLEAR sign to the right.
We have patio doors for windows,
which have glass protectors
in front of them. Our windows have windows
so we don’t fall out.
We are level with the sky.
I don’t know how I got in here.
I see birds sometimes,
probably pigeons, sitting on the roof
of the furniture shop opposite,
no doubt working out ways to break in
and rest.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

unsure
if
they’re
dancing
or dying.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

I have been invited to play with Magz.
I am being nudged by BarBarBarbara.
Kim.Berley is waiting for me to take my turn.
Deb0rah has just played DAD
and I’m testing out whether or not
ECHINS is a word
while listening to your tongue
slap the back of your teeth
and your lips form new shapes
to punch out a noise
that sounds like DUST or DUNK.

© Carl Burkitt 2021