He is beard and legs.
He is slow strides,
cracked neck, sore feet.
Fingers wrapped around handles
carrying ancient treasure.
We nod loudly
like the horns of Mini Coopers
beeping as they pass one another
wondering how they were built.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

It’s difficult teaching a child
how to trust when he sees
a superhero taking off their cape
to smother a helpless victim.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

I know what he wears on a Friday,
that bloke with a ladder on his shoulder,
buckets for hands, Brillo pad smile.
I know what he drinks on a Friday,
that man with a scarf around his neck,
a swinging briefcase, a polar bear on his head.
I know when she lets loose,
that woman with juggling ball children,
running shoe feet, A to B eyes.
I know where he sits alone,
that guy surrounded by hyenas,
inventing a life, tap dancing forever.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

The random sentence generator website offered:
I was very proud of my nickname
throughout high school, but today I couldn’t
be any different to what my nickname was.
The small print at the bottom of the site said:
If you’re visiting this page, you’re likely here
because you’re searching for a random sentence.
Which was true, because I am nothing
like Baby Bucket or Burger or Birdshit,
I am an empty mind at the end of time.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

They will throw each other over
the top rope, these men in pants and tights,
each muscle bigger than my head,
personalities more colourful than the veins
creeping their way to my heart.
They will kick and punch each other,
these men desperate to make you
forget you are being kicked and punched.
They will say anything to you,
these men with microphones in hand
talking from a script written by a man
who wants you to kick and punch,
be kicked and punched.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Jennifer Lawrence is spreading jam
across the middle of her toast
and it’s hard not to think about how
that’s how Jennifer Lawrence
spreads jam across her toast.
But that’s not how Jennifer Lawrence
spreads jam across her toast,
it’s how Jennifer Lawrence thinks
Kate Dibiasky spreads jam
across her toast if Kate Dibiasky existed.
I can’t remember the last time
I spread jam across some toast.
I walked to the shops this afternoon
and I don’t know how I got there.
Leonardo DiCaprio is writing on a whiteboard
in handwriting he’s not sure if it’s his.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

We
chase
and
chase
and
chase
and
chase
and
chase
and
catch
and
let
go

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Never has a group of faces
been waved at as much as theirs.
None of this lot slide
down their morning bannister
directly into their work shoes.
None of them look like Elvis.
These guys look real.
These guys look knackered.
These guys are burning out.
Their stubble is ash, their heads
are chipped helmets and treetops.
Their engine drives into ASDA’s car park
to the sound of eighteen month old
Nee-nah nee-nah nee-nah.
Skin softens. Windows drops.
Gloves wave. Eyes light up for days.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

and listen to each other’s days,
the way they meandered
from hour to hour or bounced
like a cafe owner walking past tables,
chest out, chin up, proud
that every seat has a person on it
or shot to the sun too fast or fell
off the edge of manageable.
We catch up and listen
and wonder when we had to start
finding seconds.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

I might be losing my mind,
but does this coffee smell of aftershave?
The barista smells the cup, and then himself.
He apologises and says he’ll make a new one.
She apologises for causing a fuss.
He grabs a fresh cup and holds it underneath
the coffee machine and steps as far away
as his arms allow. He says he doesn’t know
how it happened. The stranger in the queue
imagines losing the strength in his bones,
watching his muscles dissolve, his eyes vanish,
the totality of his organs melting into a perfume.

© Carl Burkitt 2022