When asked what animal I would be
I tend to opt for a giraffe.
I’m pretty tall, thin-limbed and knobbly-kneed.
I have patchy skin, sticky-out ears,
small tufts of hair and I like leaves.
Poking my massive tongue out is fun too.
There have been days I’ve felt more like a pig,
or a butterfly that can taste everything it walks on.
Sometimes I’m a shrimp with its heart in its head.
It’d be nice to hibernate for 17 years like a cicadas.
I once felt like a cute little mouse.
But deep down I know
I’m going to be startled to death like a chicken.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Imagine if your reflection was independent,
just hanging out behind the mirror,
swooning, taking chances, eating coconuts,
making different mistakes, upsetting different people,
living the life you were too scared to live.
Would you try and kiss it? I probably would.
It’s embarrassing to say, but I’d love to really
know what kind of a kisser I am.
My reflection looks like a selfish lover
and far less nervous than I feel.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

On the packed platform at Vauxhall train station
everyone was looking at me. Absolutely everyone.
My perturbed pupils surveyed the scene I was the star of.
The metal teeth in front of my penis were zipped up,
I was shoulder free of bird bum Tipp-Ex, my moustache
was by no means milked up and not a single bean juice blob
sat on my grey hoodie. Nothing.
But still the anoraked man frowned at my face,
the latte-handed lady tutted at my hair,
the front page Metro celebs judged my tummy.
I turned and rushed away from underneath
the departures board, terribly insecure.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

If the extra 24 hours of a leap year
got spread out across the month of February,
I wonder how we would use them each day.
Maybe we’d look at the shape of clouds a little longer,
take that slight lie in we always want on a week day.
Perhaps we wouldn’t tut when the bus was a minute late
or we’d take daily steps to repair relationships.
We could start that hobby, read that book,
bake that cake, try speaking kindly to ourselves.
If I had an extra hour every day I would probably
read through my Gmail’s ‘Social’ and ‘Promotion’ tabs.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

We have over 60,000 thoughts a day. Peaches.
Did I leave the gas on? What’s she looking at?
What’s he looking at? I don’t have a gas oven.
Apples. Shit shoes. Graeme had nice cheeks.
Sausages. I want a Mars Bar. When did it last snow?
Parkour! Bananarama. My back hurts.
Jim’s forks feel right in my hands. Bacon.
Look left. Look right. Pigeon eggs? Dust is skin.
Last night a DJ saved my life. Cherry yogurt.
I wonder if Scott liked the dumplings. Mini discs.
My name is almost car. Toy Story. Pigs.
Will my baby be able to roll its tongue?
Mmmm Danone.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

A nine-year-old asks a 12-year old
Why do you use a fork like that? Are you stupid?
A waiter has a seed in his front two teeth.
My finger pops through the toilet roll.
A two hour train journey gets slowed
into a four hour train journey.
I go up a notch on my decade old belt.
A woman crosses the road when the man is red.
I lose a tenner and then find it in my wallet.
A pigeon slips off a kerb.
I finally understand Finding Nemo’s
‘Mild Peril’ classification.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Custard coloured urine is a fear of mine.
I spend all day necking water to prevent it.
If there’s ever a stinging feeling in my pee pipe
I feel like I’ve let my body down,
like I’ve pissed over the years of hydration
education bestowed upon me.
I know there’s so much more to worry about:
animal extinction, destruction of the rainforest,
climate change, the distribution of wealth,
but how can I do that
if I can’t even drink enough water?
I bet Greta doesn’t have smelly wee.
We need to work harder.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

I was pretty late to the crinkled crisp party.
My family were crisp traditionalists.
We favoured the OG fried spud, beautifully plain.
University broadened my tongue
and introduced me to the real McCoy,
ridged for my pleasure.
I fell for a whole flurry of flavoured fjords:
flame grilled steak slopes, salt and vinegar valleys,
cheese and onion mounds.
I met a landscape of spectacular ups and downs
but when a trough swallowed me up
there was always a town waiting
to give me a hug and much needed (salt and) shake.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

I couldn’t find crispy onions in 10pm Morrisons.
I asked a staff member if they sold crispy onions
and he said What are crispy onions?
I did my best to not be a dick and said
A pot of onions that are crispy.
He snapped, No chance mate, we’re not Waitrose.
So I walked away, nose out of joint,
and thought of a world where we spoke nice,
then he skipped over and said Is this them?!
and I screamed Yes! and floated home to my pregnant wife.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Hearing a colleague taking a shit is exhilarating.
You learn more about them than you do
from any morning lift queue small talk.
You get an insight into their diet,
their pain threshold, their temperament.
I once heard a man in the cubicle next me
talking on the phone while his bum bullets
fired against the watery target beneath him.
I flushed my toilet, for a laugh, and he said
Yes mum, it’s 10am, of course I’m on the loo.
I went home thinking I’d love to be him for a day.

© Carl Burkitt 2020