I could just say the arms of the plane-spotter
standing behind the runway’s fence
are the wings of an Airbus A380
or the vertebrae in his spine
are rows of seats on an Ryanair flight
or his lips are wind socks
or his eyes are propellers
but the truth is his nose is
the stretched out point of a Concorde.
It’s moulded with a one-of-a-kindness,
designed for sniffing out adventure.
Carl Burkitt 2026
The lad on BBC London’s New Year’s resolution was
to ‘Get a tortoise’. And he got one on 1 January.
He named it Banana and it lives on a skateboard.
I don’t know the boy’s name but his smile
was longer than the time it would take
for his new best friend to beat a hare in a footrace.
I could live in the space where his top teeth are missing.
His second resolution is to ‘Be the best tortoise parent’
and I put my phone down to build some Lego.
Carl Burkitt 2026
The only man on the train
nods at me with his concrete forehead.
When I nod back, I realise
he is nodding at my open bottle of Peroni.
I tip the neck of my beer towards him
imagining the foam is a tuft of grey hair
on the head of an older man
who never makes social mistakes.
Carl Burkitt 2025
My son is reading a Paw Patrol book,
his Rudolph hood resting on his back
ready for the night of his life.
George Michael has just stopped
singing. A news story on the radio is
explaining how a woman fainted
while driving along an A-road this week.
After failing to wake her from the passenger seat
her 12-year-old son took her foot
off the accelerator and slowly turned
the steering wheel to guide them to safety.
My son’s ears stand taller than an elf’s
and says, “You don’t know how to drive.”
I tell him that’s true.
“And neither do I,” he warns.
Carl Burkitt 2025
I am Robert De Niro’s dad.
With that tea towel on your head,
blue robe on your shoulders,
not yet five years from your birth –
last year’s school nativity
was too much for your mouth to explain.
When your colleague passed you
the microphone, you understandably handed it
to your best friend to carry on the show.
But today you are Host Number 50.
The character who won’t stop dancing.
Your neck is a Santa red bow tie.
Your chest is buttoned up shirt
smiling with candy canes and Christmas trees
stuffed inside a pick up truck.
Your heart is a megaphone shouting:
“And they have cross desert wastes
to be with us this evening”
to a sea of parents who do not know
how you were forced to drow 12 months ago.
Carl Burkitt 2025
The model railway owners are lined up in church
as neatly as their train track layouts are.
Thermos flasks and lunchboxes wait patiently
as they show off miniature steam engines,
painted trees, plastic mountains, faceless men,
fake rivers shining under strip-lighting.
The enthusiast is pointing his electric finger,
asking questions beyond his years,
holding in the poo he desperately needs.
Carl Burkitt 2025
I doubt you ever heard of Sertraline – which isn’t a bad thing. I imagine you thinking it’s the name of a Star Wars villain or Chelsea’s new centre forward. I don’t take it because you died, but the fact I carve out two hours every year on your birthday to drink beer alone and text the mobile number that ended with you 22 years ago might mean I need a bit of help getting over it – which isn’t a bad thing. Your moped accident is the reason I don’t drive. I’ve only ever told three people that, one of whom charged me £65 an hour to sit on a navy blue IKEA Poang armchair in Brixton, avoid her eye contact, and explain how you were the worst goalkeeper I ever played with. When asked why I’ve never even had a driving lesson, I say, “Just can’t be bothered” or “Saving the environment, mate – I’m a hero!” I’ve never told anyone the reason I don’t drive is because I cannot trust myself to stay alive. Our school year are not allowed to die until we’ve tasted everything that was stolen from you. I find it difficult looking at my son on the 31 August. There’s an IPA on the pub’s chalkboard menu called ‘If Only’ that I’m tempted to try, and the landlord recommends the dill and jalapeño crisps. Arsenal are playing Liverpool at 4.30pm today and I’m hoping for a goalkeeping error for a chance to cry for you – which isn’t a bad thing.
Carl Burkitt 2025
I got awoken in Cheadle Hulme Costa
by a man wearing a coat with buttons
more suited to the chest of a gingerbread man.
Fortunately, I did not bite his fingers off
as he explained where and when I was.
I want to be good at small talk
so I offered him a hot chocolate. He shook
his head and said cocoa sends him to sleep.
I thank him for pulling me back
to reality and said I’m recovering from a virus.
He walked backwards to his seat
and put large headphones over his ears.
Carl Burkitt 2025
His smile is first class
and I’m not shying away from the pun.
It sends me to a new world
where joining the queue was worth it.
Carl Burkitt 2025
No one on this 12:21 train knows
I was in the shower 11 minutes ago.
The chap to my left has his top button undone,
tie pulled down a few inches,
like his morning meeting was a boxing match.
The woman opposite me has eight shopping bags.
I can see a broccoli nestled between eggs
and a roll of Father Christmas wrapping paper.
The man to my right is typing the word ‘stress’
with his fingers on a phone that looks exhausted.
I can still feel the mint body scrub in my bum
and taste the beer I might have in a bit.
Carl Burkitt 2025
Carl tells tales 