Grab a hold of your chest skin tight enough
to remove it without causing pain. Peel it off
and show the youngest eyes in the universe
that what lies beneath is every known colour,
the chance to wake up feeling useful, a bowl
of Weetabix and songs about excavators,
a train track built from cherry tomatoes and cheese,
a pair of boots dirtied with mud from countries
and towns and planets that refuse to be found,
juggling balls, uncut hair, clashing outfits,
the space between expectations and a terrible
imitation of a lion, an empty calendar, a yellow cap,
the urge to play the drums or paint a goat
or count butterflies or fly to the ocean
and the flair to sit up and fail.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

They put their coffees down
and stand by the canal
watching monkeys navigating boats.
They watch the antics on the water
and offer advice like neatly peeled bananas.
It’s been a lifetime since they didn’t know
what they were doing. Their skin is
stone holding in a river of freedom.
Later they will tell their friends
about the animals that came to visit
and compliment the way they turned
in such a tight space.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

They feel sadness in the same way
they feel the joy of an ice cream van
plink plonking its way through the street
they grew up in and learned how
to put both feet on a pogo stick
and spell the word SHIT in chalk on tarmac
before drawing a temporary tennis court.
They will not know how to continue
tomorrow but will get up, eat Cheerios,
wear their favourite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle
t-shirt, point at the sun and say Sun.
They will feel dried tears on their cheeks
and remember the taste of something
they didn’t enjoy rolling away.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

is sitting on a narrow boat
when everyone has gone to bed
and looking up at the stars
pretending I know who they are.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Give it to us. We want it.
We won’t strip if for parts,
we will sit it down and scour
the brain of its cab for stories
about tarmac, dead trees,
the way clouds change shape
depending on your mood,
the smell of roadside bacon,
the folded corners of A-Z maps.
We will follow every line on its grill
back to the beginning.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

I disagree with Tony Power, a world without rabbits
would not be fine by me. I like looking at carrots
knowing they have somewhere to go and be useful.
I disagree with Erin Moore, deep freeze will not
dispatch your slugs and snails it will drown your
memories in the carpark by the sports hall where
your arm got sliced by a pencil sharpener because
you trusted someone who. said, Put your arm out.
I disagree with Arun Kashyap, true AI cannot only
succeed if we capture life’s mystery. I disagree with
David Seagar. I disagree with David Marjot, language
was not the bedrock of early humans, it was squinting
at the sun. I disagree with Denis Watkins, global
catastrophes do not threaten to destroy hope.
I’m looking at a photo of you.
.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Pick a daisy, feed it to a tortoise.
Point at the sun like a caveman.
Refuse to take your jumper off,
where socks that stink. Forget
about rooms you don’t like.
Eat cereal at night. Draw
a giraffe on bathroom tiles.
Feel rage and joy deep enough
that you don’t know where
they came from.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Hooves click
like a keyboard’s letter U,
slowly until strides are loosened
from sugar cubes made from
How was your weekend?
Is it possible to describe
flying when you’re expected
to trot in a straight line.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

but Nottingham has a café
to wait in when you miss your train
and has a fake fireplace and a freezer
with no ice creams in it
and a broken card payment system
and a pinball machine called Rainbow’s Gold
that is plastered with cartoon lucky charms
and sets off the room’s security alarm
when you accidentally knock it
with your elbow and the noise
startles a woman with hair like Grandma
who drops her hot chocolate over the legs
of her son wearing Leicester City shorts.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

to the person I’ve never met
behind the door covered in pink banners.
The number of cars on your drive
and the road outside your house makes me
wonder how big your mug cupboard is.
One handle for every heart
you have turned into midweek tea.

© Carl Burkitt 2022