We’re explaining to you that Free Willy isn’t real, how the whale wasn’t really captured by evil people who forced it to perform (despite the fact that the whale…actor…was technically captured by the filmmakers and forced to perform in a film about a whale being captured and being forced to perform). You say you understand. But explaining that the 12-year-old boy Jesse is a 45-year-old man called Jason James Richter, is a little bit trickier.

Carl Burkitt 2025

You’re on the third floor
practicing your seagull noises.
The beach is below us outside
but you like being at their level,
spying on people’s chips,
smelling the tops of trees,
telling me what the horizon is,
watching the waves try,
wondering how deep the fish are,
desperate to know where the sun goes.
I float
knowing you think you have wings.

Carl Burkitt 2025

I am in a WhatsApp group with myself
where I send links of hip opening exercises
I’ve seen on social media. The me
who wants to open his hips and improve
his mobility likes to use emojis, gifs,
and bold, italic and capital letters.
The me who pretends his hips aren’t tight
doesn’t say much.
He doesn’t smile or stand up much, either,
but he has multiple WhatsApp groups
with someone sharing Instagram recipes
they will cook together, films they will watch together,
restaurants they will visit together,
long walks they will forget about together,
second hand furniture they won’t buy together,
problems they will head-butt together.

Carl Burkitt 2025

I’m watching amateur cricket in the field
behind my house, sipping a honey pale ale.
I’m reading pages of Tim Key’s book
between the gaps in play,
so I have no doubt this poem will feature details
like my recently purchased Tesco camping chair
beneath my arse and the prominent quiff
of the strapping young umpire.
The next-door-but-one neighbours’ son
has bowled five poor buggers out
for a piddly 11 runs. His mum is as proud as punch
holding a mug of hot coffee, and just promised
to make the whole team samosas if
he bowls out a sixth. Funny, the pressure
we put on our kids. My lad is currently at Asda
getting me a surprise for Father’s Day.
Nice to be loved.
It better not be anything with coconut.
The bastard’s only gone and got himself a sixth!

Carl Burkitt 2025

but the man on the table next to me in the pub loves his daughter. His mouth is saying how much he loves her as much as his body leaning in to listen to her is telling her he loves her. He loves the way she loves her husband. He loves the way she is buying the house that her and her husband love. He loves the way she ordered a three half pint beer tapas because she loves all three beers and can’t decide which one she loves more. He loves her laugh. He loves her opinions on people who step off of a kerb without looking left and right. He loves her anger. Her loves how she loves. He loves how she loves her husband. He loves how she hates her husband. He loves how she loves him. He loves how he loves her. He loves how he loves him around her. He loves.

Carl Burkitt 2025

A guy is doing 11 consecutive cartwheels at 1am in the dark fields of a musical festival. The first five are Simone Biles in a warmup session. Numbers six to eight are windchimes in a storm. Nine is a handstand. 10 is bent over vomiting. 11 is a round of applause from people sent to remind me that the world needs people who try.

Carl Burkitt 2025

“Where did you have lunch?”
“On the train.”
“What was it?”
“A train.”
“No, your lunch.”
“A sandwich.”
“What kind?”
“Don’t know.”
“Are you OK?”
“Yep.”
“Another pint?”
“Yep.”
“There you go.”
“Thanks.”
“Thinking about your mum?”
“Yep.”

Carl Burkitt 2025

The dog of some regulars is on the pub floor
chewing a bone his owners cannot remember
whether it is made out of turkey or duck.
Another regular asks the dog
if the bone is made out of turkey or duck
and the dog ain’t saying nothing.
Another regular notes that the dog and I have
the same curly hair on the top of our heads.
So another regular asks me if I know
if the bone is made out of turkey or duck
and I say it looks like turkey
because it’s a bit lighter than duck meat.
Another regular calls me a good boy.

Carl Burkitt 2025

I wonder what it takes
to be the kind of guy who packs an umbrella
in the exterior drinks holder of his work bag,
especially one with a cover that matches his socks.
He’s standing in the Victoria line tube carriage
with a shirt made personally for him
by the founder of Uniqlo, I assume.
Do his biceps know how lucky they are?
I think about the strangers I write about
and worry I get them all wrong
or project too much of me on to them.
Do they ever realise I am writing about them?
Shit, he’s looking at my notebook.
Goodness me he’s handsome.
His fringe pours down his forehead
like the rain he will protect himself from later.
I forgot to pack a coat this morning. 

Carl Burkitt 2025

It’s just a frog
jumping from the back of a shed
I am dismantling in my garden,
not my youth leaping out of my chest
away from jobs it doesn’t understand.

Carl Burkitt 2025