That’s how they’ll remember him:
shirt collar half up, hair not brushed,
one bag strap over one shoulder,
toast in his mouth, running out the door,
unthinking, selfish, toast in his mouth,
another piece in foil in case his mate
is unthinking, late, in need toast in his mouth.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

He’s staring out of the TV guide,
the music gone from his eyes.
He plans to tune in at 9pm
hoping to find an answer.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

He’s the kind of bloke who looks in vending machines
at train stations with no intention to buy anything.
He sees an unused grit bucket and thinks
That could be a flower pot.
He watches dramas and thrillers
and thinks, Wouldn’t it be nice if it ended
at 20 minutes when the characters are happy
doing what they’re doing. He enjoys his hobbies.
He’s the kind of bloke who puts his hands under
a broken public hand dryer and makes an
Oooooo-oooooooooh noise even when
nobody is around. He’s the kind of bloke
who makes up craft ale names for no reason.
He’s the kind of bloke who does what he can
to keep busy.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

I wonder if Number 2 is embarrassed
that the rest of us are laughing at them.
You are currently caller number 10.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

it just wants to stand on the picnic bench,
watch the tide fly gently in and out,
think about where it might live in a few months,
remember mountains, whales, sunsets of old,
listening out for lovers past and dead,
and simply scoff the boy’s parents’ chips in peace.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

Number 1 must be incredibly excited
sitting on their sofa or armchair
or lying on their bed or driving in their car.
What an effort they’ve put in so far.
They’ve probably just taken a swig of water
and let out a final cough, cracked their neck,
and lined up everything they need to say.
They’ve turned the radio down or off
and shut the window or door. Number 1
must be incredibly excited. What if they’re nervous?
Maybe they’re nervous. I bet Number 1 is nervous.
You are currently caller Number 11.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

but the bloke isn’t getting a look in.
He’s picking savoury pastry out of his teeth
with the corner of the bakery’s business card
watching his kids eat the biscuits like grapes.
He’s doing a wonderful job of pretending
he doesn’t care, talking to his wife about
the sky being rather blue and the sea
being rather blue and how the cloud over there
looks a bit like the head of the teacher
who called him a selfish little boy.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

Marilyn Monroe is screaming
at SpongeBob Squarepants.
She’s yet to call him Mr President,
because the sea does not have
an elected leader, but she’s called him
a Piece of shit and Absolutely useless.
SpongeBob doesn’t care, he has
a pizza in his hand and a permanent smile
stitched across his absorbent mask.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

I’d like to own a shop
that’s name doesn’t give away what it does.
People will walk past us on the street
and think maybe we’re a solicitors.
They will see our sign and wonder
if we can help them buy a house
or sell them tiles or mend their fences.
They will be surprised that we’re not
a bathroom showroom or a kitchen showroom
or a motorbike or car or tractor showroom.
They won’t be able to buy dead meat here.
We will not fix their plumbing or electrics.
We will sit on the high street
waiting for people with guts to say hello.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

I know people
less welcoming
than this public bin.

© Carl Burkitt 2023