[A VERY SILLY BOY is reading a cook book.]

[He eats the book.]

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2025

[JEREMY’S PEN is writing a short story.]

JEREMY’S PEN: and then Jeremy

JEREMY: You writing about me?

JEREMY’S PEN: French kissed

JEREMY: Haha what are you doing?

JEREMY’S PEN: his own

JEREMY: Don’t do this…

JEREMY’S PEN: mo-

[Jeremy snaps his pen in half.]

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2025

[DAN is pointing at THAT CLOUD in the sky to TINA.]

DAN: Wow. Look at that cloud.

TINA: Yeah.

DAN: Yeah? What do you mean, yeah? That cloud is gorgeous. It’s mysterious, bewitching, a reminder of how fleeting life is. That cloud is unique. That cloud is timeless. That cloud-

THAT CLOUD: [Interrupts] It’s Claude, actually.

DAN: …

THAT CLOUD: Only joking. Carry on…

[But Dan has already died from shock and Tina’s scarpered mate.]

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2025

The monkey puzzle tree on the walk to school, the cracks in the tarmac that look like a crocodile’s mouth waiting to smile, the flecks of fun on our wall from the sun shining through the window onto our disco ball from your auntie who will always remind you to dance, every coconut product I will never eat, the high fives from strangers you breathe life into simply by walking past them, hope, loss, joy, grief, photos of noses on faces you won’t be able to put names to, a bucket of handmade blankets, glass Christmas decorations painted on your mum’s hen do, the faint smell of Dove deodorant in the armpits of a running coat that I hope will fit you the day after I die.

Carl Burkitt 2025

The bloke in the pub who is nearly old enough 
to get a letter from the King told me to watch 
a new documentary about Brian Clough. 
So I am. I’ve got the volume on low 
because my wife and young son are sleeping. 
A tray of potato smiley faces are in the oven 
and former midfielder John McGovern is 
talking about Clough’s surprising sensitivity. 

Carl Burkitt 2025

[TULIP and LILY are in the middle of the mosh pit.]

LILY: How’s your mum?

[Tulip elbows a heavy metal fan in the larynx.]

TULIP: Coping. You know what she’s like…

[Lily knees a punk in the crotch.]

LILY: …A sweetheart like her daughter?

[Tulip head butts nine different goths.]

TULIP: Hehe.

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2025

My son does not build worlds
around his wooden train tracks
to escape this one. He builds worlds
to talk to his imagination, 
to make sense of his mind,
breathe life into his thoughts.

Carl Burkitt 2025

[THE MOON is out. It’s big and round and the kind of silvery white you’d expect it to be. It’s an impressive thing up there, just floating and looking over us all. I wonder if it thinks about the people who have stood on it in the past, the people who have died trying to visit it, the poets who have described it as a staring eye, a full stop to the day, a grandparent appearing to check you are ok and how they will always be with you during the dark times. DAVE sits under the moon and starts wanking.]

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2025

It’s not easy
so I’m making Grandma’s leek and potato soup
with no recipe, no direction,
just a photo memory of her smile,
chopping vegetables 
into unpredictable shapes 
with the confidence 
that everything will taste fine. 

Carl Burkitt 2025

[TEAPOT and JACK are either watching a football match or at a funeral (it’s up to you, really).]

JACK: Why do they call you Teapot?

[Teapot tilts forward slightly and boiling water pours out of his nose and splashes on the referee (or the corpse his wife, depending where you decided they are).]

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2025