There wasn’t
a horse in sight,
just a sign
in the middle
of a damp field
being looked at
by a lost man
wondering whether
they’d eaten
each other
or booted
themselves
to another planet.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

What have you looked at more in your life,
windows or walls?
My heart wants to say windows
but when the curtains are closed
on sleepless nights the walls are my eyes.
I’m in a pub right now looking at a window
around 20 feet away from me,
at least 60% of my vision is the wall around it.
How many doors have little windows in them?
I once worked in a job where we moved
to the basement for 12 months.
My desk was shoved in the corner with my back
to the middle of the room and my face at the walls.
When a cat is scared
they curl themselves up in a corner
to spot any approaching danger.
I was the opposite of a safe cat for a year.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

When people on TV shows
get rushed to hospital
I imagine I’m their doctor.
I don’t know any of my colleagues
well enough to admit
I have no idea what I’m doing
so I make understandable errors
and spend the evening thinking
what I’m going to say
to the lead character.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

After Tania Adoabi

I hear you.
I wouldn’t want them to write about me either.
They would talk about the day you died and how
I hid the news in bottles of Orange Reef.
They would talk about how I should get over you.
They wouldn’t talk about the privilege of having
your smile swim through my pupils every morning.
They wouldn’t talk about my near two-decade
fear of driving nailing me to the passenger seat,
nodding at countless cows and horses.
Countryside sheep are fluffy footballs I picture
slipping through your fingers.
When Kasper Schmeichel looks down a Sky Sports lens
I get to whisper to you that he is Peter’s son and is
loved by his dad as much as you still are.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

My tongue melted into the stream
running through my street.
I forgot I couldn’t swim
and front crawled my way to the seaside.
My worn out t-shirts whispered
to my spine how long it really was.
I saw a seagull strutting
down Bournemouth beach
eating chips for breakfast.
He gave me a wink
and reminded me I had a chest.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

When life gets too much,
I pretend the .ACE
after an editor’s name
in the credits of a film
are complimenting
the quality of their work.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Some people say you are what you eat.
Others say you’re only as old as you think you are,
or you’re only as good as your last performance.
I often see the phrase, you are not alone.
I once read a Facebook typo saying, I’m my PJs.
Today I was a pint of gravy,
the cushions of a sofa,
the co-captain of a ship
we’re slowly working out how to steer.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Your all in one baby grow
has a thumb-size pocket on the chest.
My morning eyes picture
you carrying the tiniest keys in the world,
the cutest little wallet
with useless bank cards
as small as stamps.
Imagine how miniature the fluff would be.
You’d never fit a mobile phone in there,
but that won’t stop sad news
getting sent to you.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

New people will be moving
into the downstairs flat soon.
It’s nice imagining the carpet
whispering to toes
they will get to know too well.
I like thinking about the doorknob
shining itself up to make a good impression.
Hello! the welcome mat will say.
There’s sugar upstairs, if you need it.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

I’m halfway through a simile.
Your big toe pierces
my Adam’s apple
like the sound of a curdling shit
against my ribs,
cutting through
a treasured moment.

© Carl Burkitt 2020