I spent the day with a serious man.
He was all elbows and straight lines.
Ironed shirt. Pressed suit. Creaseless skin.
Late afternoon he finally sat down, his trousers
riding up to reveal devil red socks. They looked like
Christmas stockings stuffed with disappointment,
strawberry laces wrapped around a bread stick,
a clown dressed as the Grim Reaper.
They were a chocolate chip in a digestive biscuit,
a bar brawl in a nunnery, a firework at a funeral.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
Carrot Top
Stood on parrot plop.
I guess you could
Call it ‘stood on’,
But I’d be more inclined
To call it ‘ate spoonfuls of’.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
Out of the infinite yous
living across infinite parallel universes,
which one would you like to hang out with?
The you with the head of a fox and arse of a duck?
The you with forks for teeth and patio slab feet?
What about the inside out you? The one inch you?
The you with fire for skin and chainsaw fingers?
What about the you with your partner’s face?
I’d hang out with the me who likes coconut
and find out how he peels tangerines.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
In yet another act
Of reputation repair,
Billy Zane got a job
On a cruise ship
And went above and beyond
To be nice to everyone.
Especially those he thought
Looked like “Gutter rats”.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
Dakota Fanning
Watched her back catalogue
And said things like:
“Man, Denzel was fun,” and
“Old Cruisey was a laugh,” and
“I miss my boy Bobby,” and
“I was in Ally McBeal?” Interesting.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
There’s a man who eases congestion on my morning train platform by pulling across one of those stretchy barriers when a train is about to leave, stopping the late coming rushers from charging at it. We smile at each other every day. I don’t know his name. I see some of my closest friends only once a year. I have second cousins I wouldn’t recognise in the street. I overheard a man reintroduce himself to someone yesterday. Adam, he said. Adam Jones. The last time we saw each other, my mother was alive.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
There was a time I didn’t know
how to fry an egg.
At one point I couldn’t walk,
now I run for buses I know I’ll never catch.
I couldn’t say ‘Mum’ for ages
and now I forget to call.
My fingers remember my PIN number
when my brain can’t.
My body feels like the roots of a tree:
stretching chaos below the surface,
miraculously keeping me pointed up.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
Drew Barrymore
Vowed to draw
Barry more.
The poor bastard
Lived for her portraits.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
