with a name that translates to
something like Sleepless Lizard
and your diet is stones from the ground
and your spine is made of fists
and your skin looks thin but is
thicker than the number of years ago
you first existed.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

The walls were thick
with paint over wallpaper
and the odd chip of brick
from curious fingernails.
People couldn’t breathe
through the heavy
thought of air.
Kneecaps were attached
but bent in half
and the space between
the hairs on my arms
didn’t matter anymore.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

A lady from Italy
has just made pasta
using flour and fingers
that are approximately
2,000 years old.
A man drinks red wine
all day until he is a boy
looking for a place to rest.
There are trees
grateful to still be standing.
Somewhere on another planet
the Hollywood sign is melting.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Spray painted sheep. A JCB on top of the world.
Neatly wrapped sandwiches. Helpful bananas.
Old, borrowed, and brand new walking boots.
Wet weather gear. Sun hats. Woolly gloves.
Dogs in the sky. Ghosts on a train track.
Open eyes. The inside of clouds.
Nothing but air and bones and Why not.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Or seen someone fall
and not texted a mate
or scratched one leg
and not scratched the other leg
or found a penny and not picked it up
or eaten a share bag of Doritos
and not looked in the mirror
and wondered what life would be like
if you didn’t eat that share bag of Doritos
or passed the penny to a friend
and not had your good luck never end?

© Carl Burkitt 2021

piling
up
and
up
and
up
over
and
over
until
it’s
just
a
heap
of
stuff.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Raspberry and fig jam should do it:
keep her sweetly frozen in time
like a roadside cafe built
at the foot of a mountain.
Chunks of fruit and melted sugar
will stick her to the shelf of
a renovated church
converted into a six bedroom house
as memorable as the title of the book
next to her name on a thin spine.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

A black and white kitten
is hopping around the pub car park
flicking leaves with its sock-like paws.
A man with floorboard cracked cheeks
is pointing at his battered fish
speaking Welsh to an English baby
who looks like a pirate commanding his high chair.
A cyclist is drinking Guinness through a straw.
A group of teenagers are refusing to get lost
in their imaginations and walk away
from the equestrian enthusiasts
to kick a deflated football against a sad fence.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Puff Daddy is telling us he’ll be missin’ you
and our fingers smell of the greengages
we just picked from your Granny’s trees.
The seats are either leather or a material
I am too young to remember.
I am in the seat behind your Dad
and his brains are bulging through his skull
with stories from a job I’m scared of
and ancient wisdom like, The meaning of life
is a glass of red wine and a good book.
The first greengage we chewed up that ladder
tasted as sweet as the time
we scoffed a pomegranate with toothpicks
and dry fried cashews over the hob.
I have no idea
Faith Evans was married to Notorious B.I.G.
My ears aren’t quite ready to understand sad.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

The instructions list things like
on-off, musical dial, bright light,
sing-song switch, puppy button,
and the future is fingers clicking
and new walking boots and jackets
and discovering corners of morning fields
and pockets filled with mini plastic bags
and lessons and lessons and lessons.

© Carl Burkitt 2021