Your hoodie is dark 
like the sky above this shop 
or the chocolate around your waffle cone. 
You went for vanilla today, 
instead of strawberry, 
a sweet plea for the white clouds to stay. 

Carl Burkitt 2025

[POSTMAN PAUL is delivering letters.]

[ED FROM  NUMBER 3 spots Postman Paul from across the road.]

ED FROM  NUMBER 3: Morning Postman Pa-

[Postman Paul headbutts Ed From Number 3.]

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2025

There’s a poo on the playground.
The kids are guessing
whether it’s cat, dog, or human.
A lot of them want to touch it.
A few of them wonder
if it’s from the bottom of a monster
or one of their teachers.
The monsters deny it.
The teachers put cones around it.
A mum runs a pram wheel through it. 

Carl Burkitt 2025

[SIMON is filling in one of those image verification thingys online.]

[Simon jumps out of his window and rubs his face on the grass.]

[Curtain]

Carl Burkitt 2025

There’s a new wooden toilet seat
in the pub’s men’s room and I’m realising
I am starting to notice things again.
Like, how Two Halves Pete is called Two Halves Pete
because he always order to half pints of ale
or how the hat rack in the corner of the room is
made from old coat hangers
or how the barman has a tattoo that I want.
The say antidepressants can flatten you out
and that was the reason I put of Sertraline
for more years than was safe for me.
But I can see the beauty in tarmac again,
the way it looks like a belt
I will wear to a special occasion one day
celebrating my adult son,
or the tongue of a giraffe – our favourite animal.

Carl Burkitt 2025

I climb inside your heart and find
George Clarke shouting, “An amazing space!”
Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen is in the corner explaining
there is just no way he can improve the decor.
So I sit on the soft, L-shaped sofa and listen
to Charlie Dimmock and Tommy Walsh sharing
poems about the water feature of your ventricles.
Carol Smillie has never smiled so much.
Alan Titchmarsh has never has so little to do.
Handy Andy has gone out for a pint
and Nick Knowles is working
on a new song called ‘SOS Answered’.

Carl Burkitt 2025

Writing a poem is easy. All you need to do is pick up a mountain, turn it upside down and eat it like an ice cream cone. Writing a poem is easy. All you need to is comb your hair with a hedgehog every morning, brush your teeth with an acorn, have breakfast with the King of England. Writing a poem is easy. All you need to do is kiss the sun, remember the name of every raindrop you meet, swim through outer-space. Writing a poem is easy. All you need to do is take your brain out and give it a wash, grow lightening in your fingers, swap your eyes for kaleidoscopes.

Carl Burkitt 2025

The daffodils arrive
like a herd of harmless lions,
daytime stars balancing
on alien-green fingers. 

The daffodils arrive
like a butter-trumpet orchestra,
a set of cheesy lips
puckering up for a kiss.

The daffodils arrive
like chicks playing musical statues,
yawning tennis balls,
a family of whistling canaries.

The daffodils arrive
like silent fireworks,
golden full stops
on the dark afternoons.

Carl Burkitt 2025

I did all my crying privately.
I can certainly cry at funerals
but, at the end of the day,
he’s gone, she’s gone, they’ve gone,
she’s gone, they’ve gone, he’s gone,
and today the sun is out
and I’m here with you
and half a pint of Bonnington’s Best.
How do you feel about your death?
I’ll be much sadder than you when you die
so let’s keep drinking.
Of course I don’t want to die.

Carl Burkitt 2025

this goes out to the early-wormers
the concrete-walkers
the toast-in-your-molars
the uniform-wearers
the running-laters
the personality-jugglers
the world-is-too-muchers
the wish-your-skin-wasn’t-realers
the relentless-bad-news-receivers
the what’s-the-pointers
the how-do-you-keep-goingers
the smells-like-giving-uppers
the blah-blah-blahers
the the-the-the-ers

Carl Burkitt 2025