You are strapped in,
facing the wrong way.
You can’t speak the language.
You don’t know where you’re going.
We’ve done all we can for you.
The hardest part must be knowing
one day you will be able
to get out and do what you like,
but not tonight.
Tonight, you must submit
to the white noise of cars
overtaking us,
breaking the speed limit.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
As kids we would sit and guess
who was coming down the stairs
by the creaks of the floorboards.
It became second nature.
We’d know if we needed to hide
what we were doing
or if we could get away with it.
When I walk into my son’s room
in the morning his face is the partner
of the inventor of the door,
blown away by the reveal.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
He is the bloke who uses different tongs
to flip the vegetarian burgers from the meat,
the woman who lets strangers
have some of the eggs from her chickens,
the charity shop that lets you stay
a few minutes after closing
so you can triple check the size of those trainers,
the lampposts in the dark corners,
the
the passerby offering directions,
the leaves that fall
and keep coming back.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
You curl your toes
like you’re holding on
to the world.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
Written using sentences found by searching
for ‘tenner’ in my WhatsApp search bar
I can’t tell you how tense I am.
The tension is pointless.
I tend to cry once a day.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
Gordon Ramsay is in a helicopter
talking about how fucking gigantic
he heard the mangoes are below him.
Watching him run
out of the door, crouching
way more than he needs to
beneath the spinning propellers
reminds me to look after myself.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
The trees
and cows
and skiers
and cabins
and chefs
and minutes
and days
and thoughts
and this
and that
and them
and oh
my goodness.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Cow. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Cow. Car. Car. Car. Car. Crisps. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Could I fit in that boot? Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car.Car. Car. Car. Car. Cow. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. I could fit in that boot. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. I don’t want to be in that boot. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Car. Crisps. Car. Carl. Car. Boot.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
standing in knight of the realm grey armour,
crooked neck, head like it’s always thinking,
in the middle of over grown trees and the-
it’s gone
and the rain is swallowing us
with its forever tarmac tongue.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
They gather at 6am to rehearse for the day
and pretend they’re catching up.
They’re sat on a metal pole
like they all did in the famous picture
where they pretended to be those workers
from the original famous picture
sat on a metal pole.
Lisa Kudrow, the one about half a foot
away from the other five, is singing loudly.
One of them won’t stop saying Joey
in a sort of coo-cooey kind of way.
Their immaculate feathers
make me feel like I don’t know
how to look after myself.
It’s hard to tell which on I find the funniest
now I’m tired all the time.
© Carl Burkitt 2021
