I knew a man who had a face
like he was forever walking against the wind,
like he was always holding dog poo bags.
He had the face of someone perpetually stuck
in the middle of two sneezes.
The face of someone just waiting
for the Frisbee to hit the back of his head.
The kind of face you wish you chopped down
to read its rings when you had the chance.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
It’s hard not to think about
how many hands touch
the tongs and spoons
at an all you can eat buffet.
Parties of germs reserving
a space on plastic handles.
Fingerprints left behind on ladles,
longing for a familiar set of unique
swirls to come and join them.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
When things get difficult
I think about the DJ who once said
Sorry, that brings us to the end of time.
I think about the headline
People Are Absolutely Disgusted
By Gordon Ramsey’s Gravy.
I think about the man I saw
eating a lasagne with a spoon.
I think about mispronounced sayings,
small cheek bones and
the first slice of lemon drizzle cake.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
I’ve never been good at wearing watches.
Despite being right-handed, I struggle
to wrap a strap around my left wrist.
So if I do wear a watch,
I wear it on my right wrist
and that never feels comfortable
when using a pen or throwing stuff.
False imprisonment is my biggest fear
and never knowing the correct time makes me
hope I never witness a crime.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
What if those moments you jolt yourself awake –
you know the times you think you’re falling
and find yourself crashing landing in bed,
the moments that feel like you pulled your guard up
to defend yourself from subconscious danger –
what if those moments are in fact the ghost
of a loved one shaking you awake?
A loved one keen to see your eyes again
or desperate to urge you to write down that
idea you just had before sleep steals it forever.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
I’m dying to go to the loo.
I’m dying for some crisps.
I’m dying to see that film.
I’m dying for a drink.
I often think of him
surrounded by other ghosts
with empty bladders, fistfuls of Pringles,
bums on cinema seats, sipping large Cokes,
when all he wanted
was to get home a little sooner.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
Standing at the urinals,
the peripheral vision man sneaked a look
and whispered Congratulations.
For a fleeting moment I forgot he was a colleague
referring to some good news
I’d announced earlier that day
and just looked down in the joy of a human
simply celebrating another human.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
Whenever I see a parent enter
a baby changing cubicle,
they always leave with the same baby.
If there was an adult changing cubicle
I would use public loos most mornings.
I wouldn’t make wholesale changes,
just enough to see myself the way you do.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
My living room window
is the most HD screen I have.
There’s rarely any repeats on,
except the man at the bus stop
I watch on a Tuesday afternoon.
Every week at 11am he sits down
and talks to people on the hard, red seat.
I can never hear him, but I see him.
He stays for about an hour with a tote bag
and then walks back from where he came,
never stepping foot on a bus.
It’s my favourite series of events.
© Carl Burkitt 2020
I was once asked
how do you know you have a forehead?
It made sense at the time.
Context is a powerful thing.
A grown man once asked me
can moons get married?
It wasn’t a grown man, it was a toddler,
but if all things go well he will one day
be a grown man who once asked me
can moons get married?
I often daydream about him saying that
when a job interviewer says
do you have any questions for us?
© Carl Burkitt 2020
