I love goalkeepers

I love goalkeepers.
Probably more than I should.
I think I love goalkeepers
because they’re loners on a crowded pitch.
They put everyone else in front of themselves.

I respect that they do a job no one else wants.
A job that when it goes wrong
it goes really wrong.
A job that when it goes well
it was just expected of them.

I like how everyone seems to think
goalkeepers are odd.
I like how they are odd.

I love watching them do nothing
for 89 minutes
then save the world in the other.

I like that they’re not footballers.
They’re handballers.
I like that they chose the one role
that goes against rule number 1.
I like that they’re number 1.
I like that they’re sometimes number 13.
I like that they’re not scared of number 13.

I like how they stand in front of bullets, willingly.

I like how when they do something good
after their defenders have done something bad
they never acknowledge the good thing they’ve done
and bang their important hands together
offering words of encouragement.

I once heard a story of a goalkeeper
so desperate for the loo
he popped his willy out the bottom of his shorts,
mid match,
hid it from the cameras and crowd
using one of his large gloves
and pissed up a goalpost.

It may or may not have been Fabien Barthez.

I love Fabien Barthez.

I love that goalkeepers have different
fashion sense than their mates.

I love that they can kick the ball
further than the players
who get paid to only kick the ball
can kick the ball.
I love that they can almost
throw the ball further
than the players who get paid to kick the ball
can kick the ball.

I love how long their arms are.

I love thinking about
how good goalkeepers are at hugging.

I love goalkeepers
because they play the game
longer than the outfield players do.
Something I wish came true for you
every time a Saturday kicks off.

© Carl Burkitt 2019

Rice Creepies

Back away with your Coco Plops
Jog on with your Wee-Weetos
I want me some Rice Creepies

Begone with your Sugar Guffs
On your bike with your Corn Fakes
I want me some Rice Creepies

Please leave with your Dreaded Wheat
Get out of town with your Unspecial K
I want me some Rice Creepies

Just give me that sneaky Snap
Just give me that cheeky Crackle
Just give me that peeping Pop

Just give me that peculiar three
Because I want me some Rice Creepies

© Carl Burkitt 2019

We Don’t Lick Ladybirds

We don’t lick ladybirds,
that’s not what we do.
We giggle at them lots,
smile at their spots
and count their wings, one-two.

We don’t lick ladybirds,
that’s not what we do.
We hold them in our palms,
see if they have legs or arms
and wonder from where they flew.

We don’t lick ladybirds,
that’s not what we do.
We sing songs about them,
write poems about them,
then you lick them anyway
cos you’re only 2.

© Carl Burkitt 2019

Pink

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

Yellow

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

Blue

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