Grizzly terrestrial dramas make me wonder
how I might get murdered.
Some days I think I’ll be hit in the soft part
of my head splitting up a street fight.
Others, a bullet through the throat
for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I used to think I was prime kidnap material
but I’m a bit too worthless for that now.
In truth I’m the kind of guy who will die
sneezing a little too hard on a train platform
or for thinking a bit too much.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

I saw an old couple, arm in arm,
walking into the wind.
I wondered if they hold each other up
in the sunshine too. When things appear bright
but behind the scenes is a storm
waiting to shake your life bones
and sweep you off your feet in an unromantic way.
They looked like they probably do.
The majority of their wrinkles
were around the part of the mouth that goes up.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

I regularly contemplate
what bits of me will fall off first.
Head hair is an obvious one.
Good money is on the molars.
But what if it’s my nose, or eyes?
Some days I wake up and feel like
the entirety of my skin has slipped off,
taking with it everything I’ve ever touched.
I once went to work with no face, no nerves.
My blood stayed at home on my pillow,
hoping I’d return.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Listening to people talk about something
they’re passionate about is magical.
It’s a ski-slope into a new world.
It can transform a colleague
into a master calligrapher,
a toddler into a T-Rex,
a marketeer into the Intercontinental Champion,
a sibling into an astronaut.
I wish, for one second, I could feel
what you feel when you eat chocolate.
I’d change my name to Charlie Bucket.

© Carl Burkitt 2020