I got a job as a grave digger.
I had great difficulty completing
the digging bit, so my thick knuckled
colleague, Jeff, would do that part
for me. I would just stand back and cheer
him on, clapping every time he lifted
a particularly large clump of dirt.
Jeff wouldn’t say much during a shift,
on account of him not having a tongue,
but we knew how to communicate. He had eyes
that could talk – if you know what I mean.
He’d wink when I’d open my lunchbox
to let me know he wanted one of my ham sandwiches
and then wink again to let me know
he didn’t like it. Haha. If he wanted water
he’d blink blink blink, and you should have seen
how wide those peepers would open
whenever a corpse broke out of its coffin
and through the earth and grabbed our shins.
I could hear his eyelids screaming.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

I came across a
charcoal-coloured
cauldron roughly
the size of a hippo
or a childhood mistake.
It was in the park near
my house completely
alone. I got close to
it and peered inside.
It was empty, clean,
except for a cry
that I recognised.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

I woke up
with green skin, again.
I was too tired to ask why
so I just embraced it.
I pretended to be a witch
and cackled at the thick layer
of raspberry jam on my toast.
I swept crumbs off the floor,
slipped the broom between my legs,
and jumped out of the window.
I didn’t fly, obviously, but I didn’t
die, which was nice, but my nose
did break and I terrified my neighbour’s son.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

The gravestone had my name on it,
followed by a date far later than expected,
and a witty engraving along the lines of:
Do not disturb
or
Arrrgggh I’m still alive
or
Lived as he died: naked
or
Died as he lived: terrified.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

He’s on the only leather chair in the cafe,
one leg neatly crossed over the over.
The line in his trousers are sharp
like an origami fold and his jacket is as clean
as a new-starter’s email inbox. There’s a book
on his table with a name like, The Charming Offensive
and he’s telling someone on his Bluetooth headset
how working on Saturday may actually be good
for him – a chance to stay sober at the weekend.
His fingernails are as smooth as pebbles
untouched by a difficult tide. His belt
buckle is a polished smile, his briefcase is
the rib cage of a trusting intern, his coffee mug
a freshly acquired skull.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

There’s a scarecrow in the pub
wearing an orange and black checked shirt.
His straw hair is poking through his trucker hat
and the bottom of his jeans are tied together
rendering his feet missing. But that doesn’t matter,
he doesn’t need to go anywhere. He has everything
in these four walls: thick ale, 70s rock,
a free local newspaper, a heavy set
of double doors preventing the thirsty sparrows
and hungry pigeons flying away from his small talk.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

Like every other night
I looked under the bed for monsters
and, like every other night, there were
monsters with teeth made from dead
love letters, hair the shape of homemade CDs,
VHS bones, the groan of an unplayed guitar,
smeared eyes like abandoned watercolour lessons,
the belly of a widowed running vest,
claws as dangerous as the box we must not mention.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

Darren found a skeleton in his sandwich.
It was a perfectly to scale adult human skeleton
without a blemish or crack on a single bone,
but, of course, the size of a slice of bread.
It posed many questions:
Why was the skeleton in the sandwich?
How was the skeleton in the sandwich
a perfectly to scale adult human skeleton
but the size of a slice of bread?
What did the tiny adult do for a living?
Where did they buy their clothes from?
What did they used to eat? Did they
have any friends? Where did they live?
We’re they the only adult human that size?
Did they find a community that made them feel
safe? Did it enjoy its own skin?
Darren asked himself all of these questions
roughly 20 minutes after finishing the sandwich.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

A Victorian child was walking their dog
on the patch of green by the chip shop
and we got chatting about the weather.
We used words like ‘nippy’ and ‘crisp’
and ‘this time of year’ and they complimented
the matching woolly hats my son and I
were wearing and how it’s good to be
a part of something as small as small talk
sometimes and I did not mention how
their dog lead did not have a dog at the end of it
or how they were a Victorian child and I could see
through their chest into the non-beating heart.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

Around 6am
And 8am
And 9.15am
And 10am and 11.20am and apparently all
Afternoon
A dreadful scream echoed
Around the
House and nobody
Heard it

© Carl Burkitt 2023