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

Sad news creeps its way
into the magic of trees adapting to seasons
or the mystic tide drifting in and out at will,
and reminds us they are merely a process,
a repetitive, dull, inevitability we cannot control.
It turns George Clooney into George,
a bloke who gets seeds stuck in his teeth,
stubs his toe on a coffee table
that will one day be chucked in a skip
when it is no longer needed.
Sad news outlines the cost of an easel,
the recommended retail price of oil paints
designed to celebrate the beauty of a hilltop
most people drive by on a Bluetooth work call.

Carl Burkitt 2024

Before you I never had poo underneath my fingernails. Before you I never even thought about getting poo underneath my fingernails. Before you my wife (your mum) and I would wake up on Sundays and smile at the 11am on our clock. We would debate for an hour over having fried eggs or poached eggs until we settled on having fried eggs and poached eggs. Before you I did not have little Rice Krispy skin tags on my neck. Before you I had a healthy relationship with sleep. Before you I would call my friends and family because I had time to call my friends and family. Before you I forgot to walk on walls with arms splayed our like a tightrope walker or to step on high street slabs, avoiding the cracks that are definitely electric. I forgot to spend my days looking up and asking people in my my life “why is that like that”.

Carl Burkitt 2024

You have learned that one trillion is a number so we walk up the one trillion stairs to our toilet and have one trillion wees and put one trillion bubbles in our bath and take off your one trillion socks and check that the one trillion bruises on your one trillion knees after falling off your one trillion scooters this morning are one trillion times better and talk about the one trillion things that made you angry at me earlier and the one trillion bits of pesto pasta you just ate and the one trillion days you plan to live for.

Carl Burkitt 2024

He keeps his fantasy novel in a sandwich bag / snacks on it for 10 minutes / pops it back in the bag / looks out the train window / reopens the bag / nibbles on the tail of a dragon / pops it back in the bag / watches the trees outside swap Manchester accents for Birmingham accents / reopens the bag / takes a bite out of noble steeds and the souls of ghouls / pops it back in the bag / witnesses the steam from fresh takeaway teas rise like an army of rebel of orcs / pops it back in the bag / drifts off / dreams of an inspector kicking him off for buying the wrong ticket

Carl Burkitt 2024