I often feel like I’m an orange bell pepper.
Not as sweet as a yellow one,
not as bitter as a green one,
not as nutritious as a red one.
If you Google
what are orange peppers,
the first suggestion is
what are orange peppers good for?

© Carl Burkitt 2019


Electrical wires remind me of dad
and how I never listen.
Earth, Live and Neutral.
I remembered that.
Blue, Green & Yellow Stripes and Brown.
I remembered that.
But which was which to fix our light switch?
The Earth is blue.
Maybe it’s that.
But earth, as in dirt, is brown.
It’s got to be that.
And then it hit me:
The yellow rays of the sun
help the green grass grow.

Earth is the fucking
stripy green and yellow.

© Carl Burkitt 2019


This lift has a nice green floor, doesn’t it?
(No don’t say that.)

Any holidays coming up?
(You’d HATE to be asked that.)

When’s Michelle back?
(You don’t give two shits about Michelle.)

Wednesday, eh?

How’s your, the, the, those…

I was…
(You don’t HAVE to speak – stay silent. Relax.)

“Ever been tempted to dye your hair?”
(…Jesus Christ.)

© Carl Burkitt 2019


Her tiny pink fingernails
rapidly poked all 14
lift buttons.

Chance to see more of the world
I smiled.

No, that’s naughty!
her mum snapped,

leaving the little girl and me
unsure who she was talking to.

© Carl Burkitt 2019


A yellow light
used to shine
through my parents’
living room.
Our cat
loved it.
I liked watching her
move closer to the window
as the sun
gradually moved
over our house
and disappeared,
leaving her
alone in the shade
as we all sat
in the conservatory
missing her.

© Carl Burkitt 2019


I woke up and the world was blue.
The stress was too high
to write a song like Eiffel 65,
each second spent trying to survive.
Earth was a navy camouflage.
I knew my clothes were on the floor somewhere,
I couldn’t even see where the bed finished.
Light was definitely shining
on my blue house
through my blue window
but you wouldn’t know.
The beams were as blue as my girlfriend.
People always told me my eyes were blue,
I finally saw what they meant.

© Carl Burkitt 2019


If I could swim in a pool of Vimto I would.
Not the fizzy kind, mind, bubbles give me wind,
but if I saw a pool of still Vimto I’d dive right in.
I’d let the memories of old summers stick to me,
turn my whole body into a satisfied stained smile.
I’d dance with Purple Ronnie and not understand his ruder poems.
I’d stop trying to work out what fruit is in Vimto
and for once just be present and let the juice tickle me.
I’d tell Craig it’s fine if he prefers Ribena and I prefer Vimto.
It really doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure we can stay friends.
I’d wave goodbye to Craig again.

© Carl Burkitt 2019