a wardrobe of floral shirts,
a fake love of toffee vodka,
football boots held together with masking tape,
a Welsh telephone box filled with urine,
a moped driven into the sun,
a foggy three year trip to the seaside,
a dinner plate across the head,
floor nuts, a small joint of beef,
800 BMX rides up a hill with no peak,
a wooden beam and a spotless house,
phone calls, phone calls, phone calls,
the opening of a creaky hinge of a closed mind,
pop-up restaurants, softball bats,
a star falling through a river, time, ears,
a melting urge of tingling skin,
an inevitability wrapped in metal rings.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Take another look, it’s only me:
the one with Pringle tube legs,
former pepperoni nipples
and Renault building
sized sweat patches.
Listen closely and you’ll hear
Status Quo while I undress
and car horns beeping their way
around my magic roundabout eyes.
My kneecaps are the number 16 bus
and my dandruff drops
like that supply teacher
who stacked it while leaning
on a pile of German dictionaries.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

The teenager melts out of me
to the sound of right clicks
and broken spreadsheet formulas.
There’s a thirsty cactus on my desk,
Post-It Notes with Don’t Forget
and a complimentary calendar from a company
called PRINT THINGS or INSTANT STUFF.
My trousers embrace the chaos.
Today, my son sneezed on some grass
without putting his hand to his mouth.
The snot stretched out
like a gap year of mistakes.
I waited a while before cleaning it up
to watch it experience the outside.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

A robin is on the beach
burying chicken nuggets in the sand.
Its head twitches left and right
watching a motorbike ride
across the outgoing tide.
Goalie gloves bob up and down
where the sky meets the water
and the sun is a bottle of Orange Reef
spilling across grey dance floor clouds.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

There were no bags of Scampi Fries left
and the bubbles in the lager were dead
and the quiz machine was rigged
and the wallpaper was half on or half off
and I couldn’t feel my toes
and a moped tore down the roof
and the landlord was a lizard
and the tables were priests on all fours
and the carpet was a secret
and the windows were elbows
and the beer mats were lungs
and the clock hadn’t been invented yet
and I refused to leave.

© Carl Burkitt 2021