5:00pm

“It’s OK” said Max, sipping on some wine.
“They only did it three times, we’ll be fine.”

5:15pm

“What a bitch, sleeping with that bastard Rick!”
“I’d love to slap them both,” growled Max. “They make me sick.”

5.30pm

“Oh God, I would do anything.” Max cried.
“How can I win her back? What haven’t I tried?”

5.45pm

“I had dreams of kids and her as my wife.
“This is a nightmare,” sighed Max. “What’s the point of life?”

6:00pm

“Oh well,” said Max, now blushing slightly red.
“Can’t blame her really; Rick was ace when I had him in bed.”

© Carl Burkitt 2013

for Alicia

If I knew you loved The King’s Speech,
I’d wish you a wonderful Firthday.

If I knew you loved Western Australia,
I’d wish you a wonderful Perthday.

If I knew you loved the planet,
I’d wish you a wonderful Earthday.

If I knew you loved a wide set penis,
I’d wish you a wonderful Girthday.

But all I know is you like shit jokes,
so here’s to a punderful Birthday!

© Carl Burkitt 2013

Before I reach one hundred years
I wish to do just one more thing:
Not write a book or learn to sing,
not taste one thousand different beers,
not fix those rusty garden shears,
or even punch that plonker, Sting.
Before I reach one hundred years
I wish to do just one more thing:

Nothing daft like conquering fears
or working out the length of string.
I wish to tell you everything;
then drink up all your pain and tears
Before I reach one hundred years.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

Like those around her,
she lost a limb;
the limb of time.

Our one-armed juggler,
our one-legged sprinter,
our one-eyed lighthouse keeper

her task is monstrous
and often thankless.

Like those missing something,
something vital,
she excels.

Our one fingered pianist,
our one-footed ballerina,
our one-fisted boxer

her efforts are breathtaking
and always noticed.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

There was a young, happy couple that appeared to have it all,
the girl was cute and bubbly, the boy was strong and tall.

Women often frowned at the girl’s sheer joy,
furious they missed out on such a perfect boy.

Whilst men would kick and curse and swear
that they couldn’t see the girl in her underwear.

Now on the surface this couple was ace,
but during the summer a struggle they did face.

You see, the girl, all sweet and pretty and fun,
was a bronzed, little angel who loved bathing in the sun.

But the boy, for rhyming purposes let’s call him Mark,
preferred winter months, hidden in the dark.

Mark was cursed with pale, pathetic, weak skin
and a single ray of light would boil his chin.

He just didn’t care about the benefits of vitamin D,
and would pray they could relax and simply watch TV.

But his sun-thirsty girlfriend, let’s call her Daisy,
loved being outside and thought Mark was just lazy.

On any bright day Mark would wake up and moan,
awaiting Daisy’s texts that would surely be on his phone.

Things like: “Hey there lazy, the sun’s finally shining,
get your shorts on, it’s time for picnic dining.”

More often than not he’d think of a lie;
a way to avoid it, without making her cry.

Things like: “Sorry darlin’, I’m on my way to see mum.”
She need not know he was at home on his bum.

This cat and mouse chase went on for months and days,
until a sun-kissed morn when Daisy wanted some rays.

It was 32 degrees and she was determined to go out,
so she stormed up to Mark’s and confronted the lout.

“Right then, Mark,” she delivered with a scream,
we’re going to the park, grab your sun cream.

Mark yelled and moaned, not once, twice, but thrice,
until Daisy kicked his shin and convinced him it’d be nice.

The young, happy couple lay for hours in the park,
Daisy was proud she’d persuaded stubborn Mark.

But as she opened her eyes to check on her fellow,
she was instantly sick and no longer mellow.

Instead of her boyfriend, who she wanted to cuddle,
lay a melted corpse; a kind of burnt, fleshy puddle.

Daisy wept and longed for her man,
until a bronzed, muscly bloke,
complimented her tan.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

Anna loved nothing more than a good old sun tan.

Even if the weather was bad she’d have a gorgeous
orange complexion by using all the snazzy sprays on the market.

On her last holiday, she lathered herself in vegetable oil and headed straight to the beach.

Unfortunately she passed out through heat exhaustion and remained unconscious for four days.

She’s now back in England with
third degree burns
and looks like a Pepperami.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

Last night, by myself, I watched the film ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’
Because my girlfriend’s celebrating our four year anniversary with her six best friends in Croatia.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

For four years now you’ve wanted my legs;
their length and stride impressing you.
Sure, I can skip over tall skyscrapers
and could be used as a bridge
for all kinds of capers,
but I fear the beauty of your pins, your pegs,
your magic pocket legs,
are something you haven’t thoroughly thought through:

Remember the time we hung out in the fridge,
daring each other
to run through the butter?
Well I went first, breathing in through my nose,
but my huge feet squashed the tub,
smearing Lurpak all over my toes.
Then you giggled a giggle, did a sweet pirouette,
and glided across like a
butterfly mid- flutter.

How about the time, after years of hard work,
when we were chosen by NASA to explore
the vastness of space?
We had picnics in our rocket and
floated all day, but when it came to
bedtime my legs were in the way.
Rather than moan and kick me out of bed,
you created more space by curling up your legs
and sleeping inside your pillowcase.

What about the day we walked in the forest
and I accidentally crushed the Smurf village
and its people?
The noise was dreadful as things set on fire;
lots of men died
and poor old Smurfette just cried and cried.
But your tiny frame meant you were at their level,
so you helped calm them down and rebuild their town,
including a gorgeous church steeple.

And don’t forget that day when you
challenged me to a race;
requiring us both to be a jockey on small a black cat.
My awkwardly large legs got instantly tangled,
leaving me and the poor pussy
uncomfortably mangled.
Yet like a little Barbie doll, you sat astride your beast,
and darted the 100 metre distance in 10 seconds flat.

So whilst it’s true that my legs are both massive and long,
do you really wish yours were like these?
Because my clumsy limbs,
all gangly and thin,
leave me as agile as rigid oak trees.

I’d say it’s far more attractive to be lovely and small,
like plug sockets or wooden pegs,
because if you weren’t so small,
and were in fact quite tall,
you wouldn’t have your magic pocket legs.

© Carl Burkitt 2013