Hearing a colleague taking a shit is exhilarating.
You learn more about them than you do
from any morning lift queue small talk.
You get an insight into their diet,
their pain threshold, their temperament.
I once heard a man in the cubicle next me
talking on the phone while his bum bullets
fired against the watery target beneath him.
I flushed my toilet, for a laugh, and he said
Yes mum, it’s 10am, of course I’m on the loo.
I went home thinking I’d love to be him for a day.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

The third and final urinal to the left was flooded
so I used the middle one, next to a guy using the right.
Cocks in hand, we nodded at each other’s
neck heads then looked forward in unison.
10 seconds later he said Mate, do you…
and then stopped and zipped up and left.
What was he going to say?! Mate, do you
have a lighter? Or Mate, do you fancy a
beer? Or Mate, do you sometimes wish you
were dead? Or Mate, do you like coconut?
And I would’ve said No, Yes, Yes, No,
but either way, dick in or out, let’s talk soon.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

When a tooth breaks, it’s pretty disconcerting.
Our little mouth hammers can handle all sorts:
smashing up gobstoppers, eroding seaside rock,
knocking off beer bottle tops, nervously nibbling nails.
Cracking a food gravestone takes something special.
Mine was a Dorito, but could’ve quite easily
have been some of the horrid things
I said to people over the years.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

The car had URGENT BLOOD written on its side.
It sent my heart racing. I wondered
what parts of me you could describe as urgent,
other than the bit I’d rather not say.
My feet are slower than they were, scabs
take longer to heal, my reflexes are a little blunter.
My tongue on my moustache after drinking milk
is likely the most urgent part of me. That
and the bit of my brain that scans for fire exits.

© Carl Burkitt 2020