Mum holds umbrella,
keeps daughter safe
from rain that stopped falling
five minutes ago. Daughter holds mum
by the bicep, talks about the weekend,
Nan’s house and Mum’s cupcakes.
Mum and daughter stop
at street corner, daughter lets go of bicep,
runs towards a yet visible school
and friends in uniform talking
about Gladiators and boys.
Mum waves to a back and the sun,
keeps the umbrella up,
protects herself from sudden change.

Carl Burkitt 2024

They’re arguing
about how to say Hello in Latin
before their after-school tennis lessons.
Their mate is sticking a Chomp bar
up his nose.

Carl Burkitt 2024

I went to school with doctors
and chefs and teachers
and small business owners
and stand up comedians
and graphic designers
and nurses and boozers
and drummers and writers
and yoga instructors
but I didn’t got to school
with a magician. Or maybe I did
and he disappeared before
getting the chance to truly know him.

Carl Burkitt 2024

The cinema screen is telling us
the film with all the people in
about that thing
is out in a month with a name
but we don’t care
because our box of stuff
and cup of things
and bag of whatever
are stressing us out
trying to get comfortable
sitting on the thing
to watch whatever and feel things
and forget about stuff.

Carl Burkitt 2024

Erling Haaland does not enjoy giant marshmallows,
the kind you can buy from multipurpose shops,
you know, the type of place in a warehouse
sized building selling everything from
48 packs of Wotsits to wooden garden furniture.
He prefers miniature marshmallows.
The kind from a shop he knows and trusts.
He sits on the sofa and flicks them, one-by-one,
into his mouth shouting GOAL as he chews.

Carl Burkitt 2024

It’s 4am.
Erling Haaland is in his bed having a nightmare.
He’s screaming through tears that he
is walking to pre-school and we won’t let him
have a packet of Party Ring biscuits.
He will not be settled. His anger is real.
It’s 4.10am.
Erling Haaland is asleep. We are awake.
It’s 7.00am.
Erling Haaland’s smile is awake
and he needs a wee. He says
he didn’t have any dreams last night
and asks if we did. We’re not sure.

Carl Burkitt 2024

Erling Haaland shoved a bouquet of flowers
into an envelope and hand wrote
his mother’s name and address on it.
He had a big match against Liverpool
ahead of him and he promised her a goal
and a quirky celebration, perhaps a shoutout
in a post match interview to say
that he was thinking about her
for the entire 90 minutes and how she
craved chocolate first thing in the morning,
constructed excellent toy wooden train tracks
and would get lost in articles about serial killers.
He’d mention her resilience, her gentleness,
and bring up how she was a former heptathlete.

Carl Burkitt 2024

The man’s sports car roars
down the residential road
like a bear ready to attack
or a lion hungry for food
or a human with a bad back
or a volcano proving it’s alive.

Carl Burkitt 2024

My peripheral vision is wet,
the pool widens like the jaws of a shark.
Water holds me with the power to let me go
if it wanted to.
The shallow end becomes the deep end
at the speed of an unexpected phone call
delivering news of a family death.
The life guards aren’t worried
because all they see is kicking legs.

Carl Burkitt 2024

Erling Haaland is dressed as an Oompa Loompa.
He doesn’t have an orange face
because he doesn’t trust the paint will come off
but his blonde hair is safely tucked
under an erratic green wig bought online.
He’s unsure whether to smile at pirates, witches,
a giant puppy behind cardboard bars clutching
a copy of Dear Zoo. His head is facing the ground
and the crowd are ready to encourage him he’ll be OK.
He looks up, shuffles his feet like preparing to bury
a penalty in the top corner and says Good morning
to Batgirl as he walks into the classroom.

Carl Burkitt 2024