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

Twenty one giant frogs
are dotted around the town,
their thick plastic skin painted
in bright colours. One looks like Spider-Man.
They live to bring the community together
after a difficult 19 months.
The Frog Wardens are wearing lily pad green
t-shirts above pond blue jeans.
Please don’t sit or stand or climb on the frogs.
They are patrolling the area
to ensure children are enjoying the trail
designed for them to count them all
and be exposed to art and imagination
to an appropriate degree.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Aldo Zilli is teaching us
how to make pasta in the sunshine.
It’s his mum’s recipe. He talks
of Italy with tomato cheeks.
The red mills of Stockport
are surrounding us; every brick
as strong as the accents around me.
A street below us pretends to be Birmingham
for the filming of Peaky Blinders.
My son is wearing a sky blue football top:
one of four shirts he has
representing four different towns.
Aldo says he was joking when he said
he didn’t want to come here.
I feel a prickle in my chest like an old man
in a pub having his nose put out of joint
and my feet sink into the foundations
just a little bit more.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

in the room
next to the one I’m in.
It moves to the sound
of a pack of carrot puffs
opening.
It is the size of a fist
of a creature
with small fists.
It doesn’t know
what it is, but it knows
to keep going.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

There are sunflowers
on the table in our flat,
sitting bright yellow and open
staring at me every time
I walk into the living room.
They don’t know who I am.
They don’t know what they are.
They are just sitting.
They are open.
They are yellow.
They are open.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

yelling at the cinematographer
in my mind who won’t stop
standing in my way.

© Carl Burkitt 2021