They’re standing in her thinking space;
one across the way chasing leaves,
one down for no reason at all.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Your trainee eyes
take a trip to your fingers
with a million years
worth of ideas.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

He has I-could-break-your-neck shoulders.
He’s carrying coffee shop trays covered
in teapots, cups and saucers
with one hand in his skinny jeans pocket.
He knows what I want to order
and gets to prepping before I ask for it.
His chest is out. His chin is out.
He seems ready to take a punch
and I believe he’d take one for the two of us.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

His eyes are teapot spouts
wet from breakfast leaf.
A cheese and tomato sandwich
fits in his hand like an arse
in a corner-sofa. He has a way
of watching an afternoon melt
into an evening like an odd couple
settling their differences
in a safe romantic comedy.
We were wondering where you were.
I’ll wait until my usual seat’s free.
See you again next week!
The tree outside his window
wears the same bark every morning;
armour wrapped around life.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

The van drives past
with the words on the side
oblivious to what it’s doing
to the imaginations
of tired minds.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

I’m stood in front of the sign outside the dentist
rolling my tongue around my mouth
to answer the question with Yes, four.
The gaps have closed over the last 20 years
and I can’t even remember why
they had to be taken from my skull.
I wonder where they are. I wonder if they remember
me. Of course they don’t. I wonder why my brain
wastes our time putting sadness on things like
lost teeth. My son is laughing as he strokes
the giant front teeth of the lady painted on the wall.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

He’s forgotten he put his keys in his back pocket
for the 4,000th time on our TV. Silly Les.
He’s left his picnic basket in the long grass
where the combine harvester is chugging. Silly Les.
He’s left the cow gate open. Silly Les.
He’s struggling to put the fence post in. Silly Les.
Tractor Ted doesn’t mention Les’s singsong voice,
or how his hair sits ruffled on his head from hard work.
No one mentions how he could have retired by now
but being surrounded by family and fresh air
is what keeps that smile alive. Silly Les.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

I’ve got just the job for you,
he said, cigar smoke floating from his mouth
smoother than the River Arvon to the left of us.
He fiddled with a slice of cheese
none of us could remember the name of.
Ever heard of Vodka Revs?
A square of salami fell from a tuft of beard
on his right cheek like a flake of sunburnt skin
on the neck of a wannabe golfer.
I can’t get you the job,
his laugh punched the air of anybody
willing to listen. He ordered a round of limoncello
and wondered where the night would take him
like a leaf unsure how the storm started.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

The kids in Pontypandy have been wasting
taxpayers money for 34 years
accidentally setting fire to treehouses,
getting lost in mountains, knocking over lit BBQs,
tying each other to chairs in rooms covered
in flammable liquids, stealing batteries
from smoke alarms to use in a boom box,
going sailing without permission and losing the ores.
It’s mainly Norman Price. Fan theories think
maybe he is Sam’s illegitimate son
as they are the only redheads in town.
Maybe they are long lost brothers.
Maybe they are the same person
from alternate universes.
Maybe they are just a metaphor.
Maybe they just need some sleep.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

They’re eating their scones,
crumbs dropping like children leaving home.
They’ve lived too long to debate
cream or jam first, so shove it all
in their mouths between compliments:
Good to see you, Margaret.
Those earrings are more you than you.
A second round of teas and coffees are ordered.
The silver clock on the far wall ticks
so slowly it goes back in time
to when they first met; a chance
to do it all over, side by side again.

© Carl Burkitt 2022