From BBQ sauce
to treacle
to caramel
to mint sauce
to pesto
to piccalilli
to Colman’s
to Dijon
to scrambled egg.
Your bumhole
is the most confusing
Pokémon in the world.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

I watched a stranger walk in the rain
as if nothing was falling from the sky.
She bounced down the street,
her vest and short shorts drowning,
her flip-flops splish-sploshing,
her sun-cream dripping
down her red raw forearms.
Her smiling teeth were deckchairs
draped in grey cloud towels.
Perhaps it wasn’t raining,
perhaps the sun was finally melting.
Perhaps she was a ghost
given a short window to feel again.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Today we picked up Thor’s hammer with our pinkies.
We swam in a volcano and emerged with Teflon skin.
We juggled a piranha, a chainsaw and an egg.
Today we killed all the birds with zero stones
and bought them all back to life.
We turned water into wine.
We turned whine into silence.
Today we blew up the sun.
We replaced our eyes with stars.
We tickled the tummy of a lion.
Today we took the devil out for dinner
and made him pay the bill.
Today we only just got started.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Wore a vest.
Winked at a 16-inch free standing fan.
Had three showers.
Changed my boxer shorts four times.
Swore at a nail in a floorboard.
Stuck a finger up at the sky.
Stared at a set of lungs.
Looked for answers in the white dots
on a nose that hasn’t decided whose it is yet.
Imagined the smile your children would’ve had
and wondered if you ever saw a heatwave.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

I once called a train guard the worst word
I could have possibly called him when he shut
the door at departure time and didn’t let me on.
I bought him a Twix in my one hour wait
to apologise but I think about it most days.
I once slammed a 4am kebab shop door shut
when the man told me they had no chips.
I think about it most days.
I’ve lost count how many times I’ve tutted
into the eyes of a stranger behind a bar
when I’m 10 seconds late for last orders.
I think about each tut most days.
I don’t want to shout at the sky and wish you were a snow flake sent to tuck me
into bed and relax my skin with a lullaby
because you’re only doing your job
and I’ve got too much to think about.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

You are nails.
You are made from the bricks
of the longest standing buildings in the world.
You are the stuff of cathedrals.
You are a rhino in a bullet proof vest.
You are Rocky’s frozen meat.
You are my 30th birthday walking boots.
You could bite through an iceberg.
You could bend Saturn’s rings.
You could punch through a tree trunk
but you never would.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

On Friday my postman told me his name.
After 18 months I realised I’d never asked.
As he reached a midway L
his tongue licked his first-class teeth.
The shine in his eye was a welcome mat
buckling under stacks of the word Colin.
The way he rings my doorbell to hand me envelopes
that easily could have fit through the letter box
and picks up the conversation from where we left off
instead of delivering unwelcome small talk
is enough to tell me I’m not just a number.
I wonder if anyone has ever said my name
in their mind’s ear as much as Colin.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

I am writing to make you aware of the forthcoming
upgrades to our gas network in your area. Our project
involves the essential replacement of old metal gas
with the newest molecules on earth. Your home will
be filled with a floaty reminder of where you come from.
You may experience light-headedness at the slightest
of feelings. We have planned this work in close
collaboration with your soul and cannot
promise it will ever come to an end.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

You are like a pocket watch.
A pocket watch too big
for my pocket.
A pocket watch sparkling
with the effort of a million years.
A pocket watch with hands
made of lightening.
A pocket watch that ticks
with the scream of bombs.
A pocket watch that stinks.
A pocket watch that doesn’t know
it’s a pocket watch.
A pocket watch I had no idea
I could make.

© Carl Burkitt 2020