The lollipop man is outside ASDA. He’s swapped
his yellow high visibility jacket and lifesaving lolly
for a faded Man City top and a cigarette.
I nod. He nods. I grab a trolly,
push it like the pram my son no longer needs.
A group of teenagers in difficult to make out
branded hoodies cut in front of me,
knocking the trolley wheels off kilter.
The lollipop man urges them to stop
as he takes a drag of his cigarette
and ushers me through the door.
“Thank you,” I nod. “See you tomorrow,” he nods.

Carl Burkitt 2024

It’s been 20 years since we last saw each other so we check off all the bits some adults made us believe were important – Where are you living these days? What are you doing for work? Are you married? – before two decades of silence squashes our tongues. My son wanders over with eyes the size of pizzas. You introduce yourself as the boy who could never make it to the Wimbledon final in Virtua Tennis 2 with his dad and I laugh and we call Pat Cash swear words standing in a church for the christening of a baby you just vowed to protect and guide.

Carl Burkitt 2024

I sometimes laugh when I think about funerals. The dusty blue suits, the how-much-are-we-allowed-to-smile-to-each-others, the flowers none of us want to buy, the time restrictions on crematorium usage before a cheap curtain closes in front of a life we’ve not finished telling everything to because a family (and another and another and another) are waiting to go next. I went for a run last week and a hearse was on the road. I laughed at myself when I realised I had stopped still on the path, put my feet next to each other, bowed my head and thought about every goodbye I’ve never properly said. I laughed.

Carl Burkitt 2024

They are eating thick biscuits in silence.
Thousands of crumbs are falling
from their mouths like the thousands of afternoons
they have spent in each other’s company.
Plop goes a visit to the canal on her bumbag.
There goes a trip to the zoo
tumbling on to his fleece sleeve,
meerkats standing tall, lions drifting off
behind glass. A clump of pottering around
hand in hand through National Trust parks
pointing at well lived-in houses
lands on his muddied walking boots.
She takes another bite and 300 stops
in the library to flick through
A-Z maps of England trickle to the café floor.
When the thick biscuits are finished they sip
their coffees. Each mouthful a river of comfort
coursing through their next adventure.

Carl Burkitt 2024

He remembers how I like ice in my tap water and semi skimmed milk in my decaf tea. He knows I will say no to a biscuit or cake so uses that time to ask me how my writing is going or to compliment a tattoo he’s not seen before. He doesn’t ask me to scan my loyalty card because I did it at the point he said “Hello again”. I don’t know his name, but I know where he gets his beard trimmed because he raised his eyebrows at me from the barber’s chair when I walked past the window last week. Hello again.

Carl Burkitt 2024