Faceless goblin

I can’t confirm whether or not this is true,
but last night a faceless goblin
melted itself down to a filthy, thick, tar-like liquid
and slid through my front door’s grateful letterbox,
effortlessly puddled its way up the stairs
and under the crack at the bottom of my bedroom door,
then silently shuffled across the floorboards
and up the bed frame and under my duvet
and swapped my bones for dust.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Dirty ready meal

I hope no one is reading this.
I hope they’re all smiling at penis-shaped clouds.
I hope they’re losing at Scrabble.
I hope they’re cooking a fresh meal.
I hope they’re cooking a dirty ready meal.
I hope they’re completing a jigsaw or starting
a jigsaw or buying a jigsaw or selling a jigsaw.
I hope they’re crying.
I hope they’re inventing dog names.
I hope they’re practicing their autograph.
I hope they’re whistling the Changing Rooms theme.
I hope they’re doing nothing.
I hope no one is reading this.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

One big game

If my flat was a Cluedo board you’d find me dead
in the hallway with the extendable rubber broom
or in the living room with the Cool Original Doritos
or in the kitchen with the easily split bin bag
or in the bathroom with the broken flush
or in the bedroom with thoughts racing.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Shooting a wink at the foxes

I like taking the bins out.
I like opening the grubby mouth
and feeding it a homemade buffet.
Nom nom nom nom nom.
I like taking the bins out.
I like being a filthy Father Christmas,
a stinky Easter Bunny hiding giant crap eggs.
I like taking the bins out,
shooting a wink at the foxes –
the sexy ones waiting to pounce.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Directions to the nearest supermarket

Leave the house and take the first right.
Put one foot in front of the other,
stepping into the road every now and then.
Look at the tabby cat next to the dog poo bin
and wonder what it’s planning.
Put one foot in front of the other.
Wave at the stranger walking towards you.
Not really, but imagine being that kind of person.
Put one foot in front of the other.
Remember there’s a sky
that goes through dark and light and wet.
Put one foot in front of the other.
When you see the supermarket, just keep going.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Something about skin

That’s all the note said.
Something about skin.
I tried to remember the feeling I must’ve had
in my muscles when writing those words,
but I couldn’t.
Something about skin.
Was it a handwritten scribble to jog a memory?
Or a warning for my largest organ’s future?
I often feel like a onesie for a wise creature
that dies the second the zip goes up.
Like a firework on a rainy November.

© Carl Burkitt 2020