A Short Play About Baby and Baby’s Parent

[BABY is wearing a classic chef’s hat, a blue and white striped apron over a nappy, and is holding a plastic whisk and a wooden spoon. BABY’S PARENT is sat on the floor, admiring the beauty of Baby.]

BABY: What can I get you?

BABY’S PARENT: What do you have?

BABY: [Incoherent rage]

BABY’S PARENT: What did I do wrong?!

[Baby sets fire to the kitchen.]

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2025

Every day

He watches Christmas films in February
as popcorn sprinkles his pyjamas
like the first proper snowfall he saw this year.
His mum cut through the living room wall
with a multi tool today, revealing space for a fireplace.
“Santa can use that this year,” he said
peeking up the hole, desperate to see black boots.
When his nose goes red on a cold walk to school
he calls himself Rudolph and goes faster on his scooter.
Every day he counts down his days,
unaware he’s wishing away the few I have left
to watch him watch Christmas films in February.

Carl Burkitt 2025

The Salad Lady

A stranger gives my son sweetcorn at school. And sometimes cucumber. He doesn’t know what hairstyle she has or how tall she is. He doesn’t know if she wears knitted jumpers or blue jeans or white trainers. But he remembers the lunchtime she served him tomatoes and how it felt like being at home, even for just five minutes. My heart is the size of a pumpkin knowing someone without his blood is interested in his wellbeing. He calls her the Salad Lady and he likes it when she has green beans.

Carl Burkitt 2025