His T-shirt doesn’t match his face.
He is also part full of cold chips and ketchup,
the disappointment of seagulls,
the thrill of blue candy floss,
successfully skimmed stones,
buckets of sadness, spades of electricity,
curiosity of cliff edges, the embarrassment
of public toilet tap water on light grey shorts,
the sound of crabs claws clapping,
the joy of a weekend with no plans,
the dread of a weekend with no plans,
the introduction to sea air, nervousness
over the gaps between old pier floorboards,
upside down ice cream rage. He is part full
of every single thing he has ever seen,
smelt, and felt trying to tear through his skin.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Their Liverpool away shirts match
as much as their bearded jawlines.
If they were holding hands
they would be passionate Dad
and eager to please shadow again.
They are standing on a pier
238 miles from their city, the day after
their team were on TV, holding on to
something more important than hands.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

There will be days
when a chocolate coloured Mini
will drive by with a French Bulldog
hanging its head out the window
while circus music plays from the speakers
and all we need to do is buy milk.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Do you have any playing cards?

Nope.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

One episode is enough to wonder
if your television is trying to kill you.
They’ve shoved the lot into one creature.
Cut her open and her bones will be
sticks of rock with the word glitter
running through the middle. She smells
like candy floss and a week off.
Has your head ever been hit like a piñata?
I think about the animators.
Do they walk to work and see the hope of sunshine in a grey cloud, the glow
in lightening, the cleanliness of a hearse?

© Carl Burkitt 2022

They sit in cupboards unsure if they’re green
in AirBnBs and caravans in the ‘90s.
I like drinking orange juice from them
and thinking I am in an American diner
waiting for pancakes and eggs over easy.
The person I’m with probably has
a chocolate milkshake she needs to try
really hard to get through the straw.
I sat in the bathroom at a house party once,
a Coca Cola glass being topped up
with Portuguese rosé by one of my hands
that hadn’t been very nice to me.
I sipped it until I was in a Welsh chalet
counting my holiday money
to see how many goblets I could afford.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

The stick is wider than the path
and is hanging out of both sides
of the dog’s mouth like a fisherman
showing off his afternoon.
Strangers are smiling as they step
into the road to let him by.
They are willing to die
for him to do what makes him happy.
A man in a bottom of the ocean black suit
is on the other side of the street,
his steps not reaching their potential.
The blue tooth headset in his ears
makes it look like he is telling the world
I’m not sure how long I can do this.
Nobody breaks their stride.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

They’re pecking at each other –
from the way they are dressed
to their favourite type of crisp
to the Pokémon cards they’re opening.
The shortest chicken does not want
to walk alongside the tallest chicken.
The tallest chicken tells the shortest chicken
he hates the way he clucks so loudly.
Come on, little chickens, Mother hen says
from way out in front. Let’s go get some nuggets.
The little chickens nod their plucked heads,
link wings, and fly 20 feet together.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Jaw like a Pukka pie, scampi eyes,
crispy battered cod hair. He is easily
confusable with the drinks fridge.
A Tuesday cuboid. Refreshing to see.
He’s left his armour at home. His sculpted chest
is tightly wrapped in a red, white and blue
hoody with a star in the middle. His jeans
are dappled in salt stains. I can count four
biceps per arm. Vinegar? What do you think?
He is ready to tear off the rough of his mouth,
peer inside his skull and count the fires
he’s put out today.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

I remember when they were bodies
without name badges. They had
the kind of arms you could bend with until
speakers died, legs longer than beaches,
hands built for bags of Sunday night reductions.
Our skulls were yet to be invented.
We would listen to people smarter than us
talk about things smarter than us
and see how many peanuts we could fit
into our belly buttons. I sit behind a desk
and imagine fresh suits asking shoulders
that once helped Bournemouth back to its feet
how they got to where they are today.

© Carl Burkitt 2022