I took a bite out of the thigh of a man
in front of me in the queue at Costa. 
It tasted of Calvin Klein aftershave
and the confidence to tell a barista
they’ve been given the wrong order.
He didn’t turn around
when my teeth sunk into his leg meat.
I had bits of hair and suit in my molars
and he simply readjusted
his wireless headphones and left a voice note
to someone about inflation and targets.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

I had a coffee with a vampire this morning.
I don’t drink coffee – it doesn’t agree
with my tongue – so I just had a breakfast tea.
But the vampire had a very dark coffee.
He said his life was draining
so sucked up caffeine whenever given the chance.
His hair was hypnotically slick and pristinely
combed back. I asked him how work was
going and he talked about nightshifts
and struggling to make long lasting relationships
with colleagues. He asked me a lot of questions
about my son. He wanted to know
how it felt watching a body I could once hold
in one hand grow with the knowledge
I am likely to die before seeing him at his peak.
I nibbled the foot off a gingerbread man
and wondered how I’d look in a cape.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

I spent the worst part of a week caught
in a giant spider’s web hanging between
two roof beams of a cottage in a city
I cannot remember the name of.
My limbs stopped thrashing after about 12 hours
and I was surprised how quickly I got used to
the fact I probably wouldn’t eat again.
If I was able to hold a pen and paper
I would’ve written a farewell letter
to anyone likely to read it, but instead
I had a think about all of the times
I never stepped out of my comfort zone
and let the warmth of four walls
let me be someone who gets caught
in a giant spider’s web.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

I’ll carve a pumpkin
to look exactly like you one day.
The eyes will be open
and the mouth will have curious teeth.
I’m not skilled enough to give it hair
but I’ll make the skin look resilient
and give it unrelenting ears.
I’ll keep the gloop from inside
to spread on toast for my breakfast;
a chance to be full of kindness.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

After LinkedIn

1. Use your hand, or something similar.
2. Grip confidently but gently – this is a greeting, not a battle.
3. Look your fellow shaker in the eye, briefly, then at the floor or ceiling.
4. Shake for a maximum of 5 seconds and a minimum of 2 seconds.
5. Say something unrelated to the shake – do not compliment your fellow shaker’s skin softness, nail cleanliness, fingerprint uniqueness.
6. Do not whistle.
7. If you do whistle, whistle your fellow shaker’s favourite song.
8. Do not whistle the tune of a song played at the funeral of your fellow shaker’s loved one.
9. Whistle the shape of words that make you feel comfortable being alive.
10. Wait for your fellow shaker to walk away before rubbing your palm on your trousers.

Carl Burkitt 2023

He’s talking about his midlife crisis –
surfboards, tight T-shirts,
writing romance novels
through the eyes of anyone
who has ever looked at him,
cooking curries from scratch,
giving up pants, wearing Crocs
unironically, giving up walking
through the park with a group
of friends feeling utterly alone,
calling strangers chief of guv,
– and how he can’t wait for it to arrive.

Carl Burkitt 2023

Nothing of note.
I guess scrambled eggs happened.
Two cups of tea.
A walk in a back pocket.
My lid stayed put,
thank God.

Carl Burkitt 2023

and he’s there
behind the eyelids,
sucking moisture
from the bit with colour,
spitting it out down my cheeks.

Carl Burkitt 2023

As much as I enjoyed the warmth of the
armpit of her lime green raincoat –
it was humbling to not be needed
while the rain drowned her hair
like the tears did her cheeks.

Carl Burkitt 2023

Pork pie. Ale. Unfiltered. Leathered.
Powerful. Afternoon. Uncompromising. Laugh.
Pink skull. A beard. United cap. Luxury trainers.
Perky. A yawn. Uncle to strangers. Listening.
Pensive. Away with the fairies. Unsure. Leathered.

Carl Burkitt 2023