Bro

The blokes are kicking a ball to one another
on their local beach calling each other
bro. The muscles on their naked chests are
from a different planet. I walk past them,
my brain bursting with conversation
and facts about the invention of the FA Cup
slowly enough in case the ball finds its way
to my feet and I need to return it. It doesn’t.
I am a spectator in the sand, bursting.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

You’re pointing at the giant cement mixer

and the man on the bus says,
If you get hit by one of those, you’re a goner.
You laugh and he tells me about the time
his motorbike got hit by a flatbed truck
and he did a 360 flip on to the ground.
A stranger asked him
if he wanted an ambulance but he said no
because he was delivering something
he thinks he probably shouldn’t tell me about
and he just had to get out of there.
The next morning, his legs were pins and needles.
He dragged his body like a slug
through the front door, down the porch steps,
on to his neighbours front yard
and he screamed until he was in hospital
for six weeks. He recommends I read
Geronimo’s biography because that guy knew
how to survive an onslaught.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

I had a friend who was a longshoreman

I wonder just how long
the man’s friend by the shore was
and when I feel comfortable
to stop hiding behind jokes
I smell salt in the air
and feel my beard growing where it needs to.
There’s sand in the cuts on my fingers
and my arms feel big enough to carry cargo
or slap the back of a man who needs it.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

I will

One day I will get on a flight
wearing jogging bottoms
and a T-Shirt that’s loose
around my arm pits and stomach.
I will bring fluffy socks and a neck pillow.
I will chew sweets on take off.
I will take care of myself.

© Carl Burkitt 2023