[LUCAS and KEITH are playing that game where you travel around a board pretending to be a little dog or a boot or a top hat buying parts of London.]

LUCAS: If you were a wrestler, what would you call yourself?

KEITH: What kind of wrestler?

LUCAS: You know, the kind on TV. Big muscly types, oiled up, long hair, brightly coloured outfits, elaborate entrances, spectacular moves, deep voices, dramatic storylines, intimidating names like The Finisher.

[Four days pass.]

KEITH: The Keith

LUCAS: What’s that, Dad?

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2024

Every Tuesday at 3.30pm they sit
on the only bench in the middle of the woods.
The motorway sings behind the trees,
dogs and their walkers float by
like clouds clearing the way for sunshine.
Most weeks they say nothing,
let the feel of their touching shoulders
do all of the talking. Today
she is readjusting his watch, perhaps
freezing time before life no longer needs them
to wear school uniforms with nowhere to be.

Carl Burkitt 2024

[WALLY is standing in the living room surrounded by loads of his
possessions stuffed in boxes. He’s moving house.]

[Wally reaches for an empty box but realises he’s packed his hands
away.]

[Wally reaches to rub his chin with his wrist, but realises he’s packed his head away too.]

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2024

I chose Batman over Superman. I knew, as a child, Superman’s power of flight, super strength, x-ray vision and slicked back hair would be something this world would never be able to give me. Outside of the billions of pounds and a brain to develop nifty gadgets, Batman looked attainable. I could easily see myself having a deep voice, sulking around at night, putting the health of strangers before my own, letting scars out of my control weigh deeply on armour for me to hide behind.

Carl Burkitt 2024

[CARMELLA is looking very stressed, waving her laptop in the air. THE ABSOLUTE WORST is trying to remain calm.]

THE ABSOLUTE WORST: So, what pacifically is the problem?

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2024

26 ears
22 ear pods
12 woolly hats
1 grey head
12 shut mouths
1 talking mouth
2 wet eyes
1 hand on 1 shoulder
2 open ears

Carl Burkitt 2024

My son puts a bran flake on the table
says it looks like a planet
names the planet Earth
eats the bran flake without thinking
and that’s the poem finished.

Carl Burkitt 2024

He’s wandering down the path
next to the main road with nothing
in his hands. No-one is thanking him
for saving their lives or telling him
to have a good day. His relaxed blue jorts
keep trying to convince him to walk
into the cafe, order an iced latte,
sample a slice of shortbread.
The peak of his yellow cap – brighter
than a headlight, bigger than a stop sign –
is pointing firmly at the junction.
His fingers are itching to wave.

Carl Burkitt 2024

Her school summer holiday is all hot
chocolate and prawn sandwiches
in a cafe usually filled with work laptops.
He shrimp-pink t-shirt is tickled with mud
and time with a mum capturing moments
with her eyes. I’m earwigging, hearing words
like ‘bug hotel’ and ‘taking stabilisers off’.
The coffee machine spits out steam
like a train travelling back in time.
The punch of noise silences my nosiness
and I lip read ‘pogs’, ‘yo-yos’, ‘pogo sticks’.
The coffee machine pulls into the station,
mum and daughter stuff sun cream
into backpacks, wipe butter off cheeks
and evaporate into possibility.

Carl Burkitt 2024

They’re at RAF Fairford,
flesh-coloured starlings
walking in unison. Each move
unspoken but seemless.
Coffee. Bacon baps. Sit down.
Wander. Toilet. Stop. Stare.
Coffee. Burger. Sit down.
Wander. Toilet. Stop. Smile.
A routine rehearsed
over years of just being.

Carl Burkitt 2024