What took you so long, Russell Crowe?
I had visions of meeting over foamy pints
and shouting through drum and bass
in a smoky club we couldn’t remember
who suggested we head to
before giggling over a slippery kebab
on a walk through thick Bournemouth air
on the way to my Uni halls
where we’d put a dusty copy of Gladiator
into my creaking TV/VCR combo
and every time Joaquin Phoenix would appear
on screen you’d shout WHACK and slap my back
and force me to neck a tequila
until I fell asleep to the sound of you
convincing yourself you’d make a good Robin Hood.
But it’s 14 years later and here you are,
sitting in my room asking my 3 month old son
Are you not entertained?
and I don’t know what to do.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

We’re stuck
to the sofa
stronger than
the too-thick coating
on our homemade
toffee apples
is to the backs
of our fillings.
Two years down,
a million more
mistakes to go.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Your crab claw hand
clamps down on my beard
like hungry teeth on crispy seaweed.
You tug at it until your fingers
slip off like a soft tide.
You slap my chin. You slap it again.
You rub your thumb
down my neck like a blunt razor.
You lick your knuckles and drag them
across the hairs under my bottom lip
and look surprised the hairs are still there.
What do you think is happening?
Do you think my face is covered in wiry dirt?
A tiny forest? Useless snakes?
You rest your palm on my moustache and sigh,
desperate to talk.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

I’ve never been afraid of ageing,
but I have been guilty of comparing
the years of my bones
to what position on a football pitch
they could be the peak age for.
When I turn 34 in December
I’ll be a third choice keeper,
signed to fill the English quota of a top six club.
Long gone are the days my legs were made
for last ditch tackles, overlaps,
or, further back still, being called upon
to casually sprint on to an over hit through ball.
I can’t wait until I’m old enough to be the kit man,
to run my fingers across a shirt I barely remember
and allow the future to flourish.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

There wasn’t
a horse in sight,
just a sign
in the middle
of a damp field
being looked at
by a lost man
wondering whether
they’d eaten
each other
or booted
themselves
to another planet.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

What have you looked at more in your life,
windows or walls?
My heart wants to say windows
but when the curtains are closed
on sleepless nights the walls are my eyes.
I’m in a pub right now looking at a window
around 20 feet away from me,
at least 60% of my vision is the wall around it.
How many doors have little windows in them?
I once worked in a job where we moved
to the basement for 12 months.
My desk was shoved in the corner with my back
to the middle of the room and my face at the walls.
When a cat is scared
they curl themselves up in a corner
to spot any approaching danger.
I was the opposite of a safe cat for a year.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

When people on TV shows
get rushed to hospital
I imagine I’m their doctor.
I don’t know any of my colleagues
well enough to admit
I have no idea what I’m doing
so I make understandable errors
and spend the evening thinking
what I’m going to say
to the lead character.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

After Tania Adoabi

I hear you.
I wouldn’t want them to write about me either.
They would talk about the day you died and how
I hid the news in bottles of Orange Reef.
They would talk about how I should get over you.
They wouldn’t talk about the privilege of having
your smile swim through my pupils every morning.
They wouldn’t talk about my near two-decade
fear of driving nailing me to the passenger seat,
nodding at countless cows and horses.
Countryside sheep are fluffy footballs I picture
slipping through your fingers.
When Kasper Schmeichel looks down a Sky Sports lens
I get to whisper to you that he is Peter’s son and is
loved by his dad as much as you still are.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

My tongue melted into the stream
running through my street.
I forgot I couldn’t swim
and front crawled my way to the seaside.
My worn out t-shirts whispered
to my spine how long it really was.
I saw a seagull strutting
down Bournemouth beach
eating chips for breakfast.
He gave me a wink
and reminded me I had a chest.

© Carl Burkitt 2020