Blue Suit is thinking of getting his dumbbells
out of the garage but his wife says he has to
remove the rowing machine from the box room
if he isn’t going to use it. Grey Suit has started
incorporating a three mile walk to and from
the gym every morning. Look, he’s done 1,200
calories already today. Blue Suit says he can’t
do it early in the morning because he’s too knackered.
Grey Suit says he gets it but you just have to get up
and do it. Blue Suit knows. Grey Suit asks Blue Suit
if he’s enjoying the job. Blue Suit goes to answer,
but Grey Suit says it doesn’t feel like a job
if you’re working with guys you can talk to,
especially with the unrealistic expectations they set.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

with the ease of a trapeze artist.
You are a Polaroid of mindfulness,
an image to sit and develop.
We should it, give it time
until we barely recognise it.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

and we go again
looking for something to do
between the moments
we have no control over.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

and the eyes roll back
like the world on rewind
to a time neither of us
were in the building
and were simply trying
to learn how to stand
without getting in the way.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

full of hot air

clattering limbs

soft but hard

fun for a bit

deflating

uplifting

better in a garden

with other people

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Written using sentences found by searching
for ‘sea’ in my WhatsApp search bar

I dipped my toes in the sea,
ate an entire sea bass,
watched season 6 of Below Deck,
fell backwards from a seated position
and smashed the back of my head,
forgot to book the seats,
and decided to continue the job search.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

like a non fully formed kneecap,
a garden pebble for brunch,
a floater at bath time,
two eyes following a forefinger,
a wave without a cliff face,
lightening without the thunder.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

There’s a business card
sellotaped to a black notice board
graffitied with the word WHAT
below two panes of glass
that have been tampered with
by fingers desperate to be see through
and a forehead trapped in skin
stretched by the thoughts
of goalkeeper lying helpless
and a puddle of process Orange Reef.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

The carpets have been lifted,
the bones of floorboards look strong.
Jack Johnson is making banana pancakes
in the kitchen. The doors are open
like the smile behind a wedding camera.
I’m asked How many profiteroles did you manage?
over and over in the space between my ears.
Flecks of year-round tan are refusing
to hide behind emulsion.
Rollers are helping spread a heavy day
across walls as tall as a lifetime.
Manchester is thinking.
There is no dust in my eyes.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Jeff Sainsbury (born March 21, 1956),
also known by his nickname from the stranger
at the window, Bus Stop Man,
is a grey haired chap known for sitting
at bus stops with an orange bag for life.
Career: His shoulders scream Army,
his hands whisper Baker.
Personal Life: Despite sitting at the bus stop
for an hour (sometimes two) at a time,
he never gets on a bus. He just chats
to anyone who walks by with a smile.
Controversy: He is a ghost.
See Also: The Alexandra Pub.

© Carl Burkitt 2021