There’s a spiral in my fingerprint that I get lost in.
It’s like something from a Geography textbook.
The middle is thin and intricate
then expands into controlled chaos.
When I think about everywhere I’ve left it
I get a little overwhelmed:
car door handles, ice lolly sticks, eggshells,
the side of my temples, Christmas crackers,
funeral order of services, dog poo bags.
It sits near the tip of my left hand’s ring finger.
That one gets all the stories.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

When asked what animal I would be
I tend to opt for a giraffe.
I’m pretty tall, thin-limbed and knobbly-kneed.
I have patchy skin, sticky-out ears,
small tufts of hair and I like leaves.
Poking my massive tongue out is fun too.
There have been days I’ve felt more like a pig,
or a butterfly that can taste everything it walks on.
Sometimes I’m a shrimp with its heart in its head.
It’d be nice to hibernate for 17 years like a cicadas.
I once felt like a cute little mouse.
But deep down I know
I’m going to be startled to death like a chicken.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Imagine if your reflection was independent,
just hanging out behind the mirror,
swooning, taking chances, eating coconuts,
making different mistakes, upsetting different people,
living the life you were too scared to live.
Would you try and kiss it? I probably would.
It’s embarrassing to say, but I’d love to really
know what kind of a kisser I am.
My reflection looks like a selfish lover
and far less nervous than I feel.

© Carl Burkitt 2020