We’re on the left as you walk in
on a square, faux-marble table.
I have a panini stuffed
with three types of cheese,
only one of them is from France.
Some Walkers ready salted are sat beside it.
Two men to my right are talking
about Moira Stewart being born in Scotland
and I won’t tell them she was born in London.
There are no pictures of Patrice Evra in here,
but I am thinking about his talented feet
tapping on the tiled floor wondering
when they will fully settle into their new town.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

It’s earlier than it’s ever been.
We are walking pre-dew. The clouds
haven’t separated. The pavement
hasn’t softened. Morning. Car doors
are closing gently, they don’t know
they have horns yet. Shops are eyes.
Morning! I’ve said it twelve times
to people in fleeces. Their boots have springs.
Their cheeks are crinkled maps.
Autumn is summer if you get up before weather.
Morning. See you soon, pal.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Tim takes his time walking over to his two mates –
salt and pepper beards, cue ball heads, thinning
jumpers – with appropriate caution in each
of his steps while his fingers clutch three pints
of ale in an amber triangle. He daren’t look up.
You know what, Tim?
What’s that?
You could be a barman.
You think?
If it weren’t for all that paint on your hands,
dirty bugger. The laughter clinks
like a trough of empty bottles clattering
into a glass recycling bin. The air softens
as the dregs of previous pints are downed.
How’s Debs coping, Tim?
Better. Thanks for asking.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

We sing Coldplay and talk
about children outside the takeaway.
We are only a quarter cut
because we wake up for important things
now. Are hugs are as long as the miles
between us. It didn’t take much
to slip into our old dancing shoes
and remember the routine. How are they doing?
How’s she getting on? He alright?
Everyone gets ticked off. We say,
That’s a shame a lot more these days.
The pizzas we cooked at home were nice.
You didn’t have meat for me. We shared
two between three and I’ll have some for lunch
tomorrow. You get on the train and we wait
for heart burn.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Leg. Leg. Leg. Leg.
Red. Blue. Green. Leg.
Sock. White. Whistle.
Leg. Sausage? Ball.
Leg. Leg. Clock. Leg.
Grass. Looks. Too. Good.
Yellow. Red. Flags. Leg.
Why. Am. I. Here.
Leg. Leg. Leg. Hands.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

She knew what he meant
but her eyes remembered
marrying a man who believed in things:
clinking champagne before sipping,
never walking under ladders,
if we get wet we get wet,
buying another pack of eggs just in case
because if we already have some
they’ll get eaten anyway,
it’s worth a shot.
She picked a conker off the floor
and put it in her wide open pocket.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

We’re going to be late for a grown up thing
and you spot it, peering through a crack
in the meeting of concrete and brick wall:
the first firework in the north, a fist
with the winning lottery numbers tattooed
across the knuckles, God mooning,
a green meerkat, a vertical planet,
the queen on tiptoes, a yodelling fox.
It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, so I watch you
watching the life out of it.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

He sits alone
at the table nearest the toilets,
his body draped in over-sized flannel checks,
his beard longer than his face.
He watches the customers
who march in from outside
and waits for the ones who stop
abruptly just behind him, turning
their heads left and right.
He lets a couple of beats play out
before, Looking for the gents?
Just there, mate
and goes back to pretending
to do the crossword
with one hand around his pint glass.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

it decided to land on the gravel path
in the hope it would open up
and be useful for someone else.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

He stands in the window
next to a red teddy bear
and a doll with one arm.
He looks out at the street
as customers limp in
and strut out and he wonders
why all the other houses
on the road are so quiet.
He feels his wings tightening
throughout the day. The word Andy
has completely rubbed out.
At night, the shop sign is no longer
visible and the bricks soften
into a home.

© Carl Burkitt 2021