He’s sat in a cushioned pub seat
wrapped in a red checked shirt.
His thick-rimmed glasses
are hanging off his wonky nose,
his cheeks are Mr Blobby pink.
He’s trying to tell a joke
about a farm or a shop or a lake,
he can’t remember
but the room of regulars
are nodding and laughing
and passing around dry roasted peanuts
and he remembers the joke
is about an airport
but everyone is gone.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

It’s standing
in the living room
draped in tinselled glory,
teaching a toddler
to be defiant, contrary,
to feel fabulous
in the oddness he was gifted.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

I have two golf balls
in the rough of my throat.
It’s not fair. A young Tiger
is clubbing me with paws
ready to learn and play.
I am a bogey. I need a
strong course of drugs.
I need my ma.
I’m desperate for pa.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

and that is not me.
The sound hits my chest
as hard as my son’s first cry
in the hands of a stranger
we will only ever know as “Doctor”.
Well-trodden phrases exist
because humans feel the same things
no matter how hard we try to be new
and her yell is blood-curdling.
I spin to see her at the end of aisle 12.
Another man called Dad gets to her first,
she smiles at his panicked skin
and says, There you are,
look at this Peppa Pig jigsaw.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

The ramekins in the gift bag
are jingling like baubles
as we hand them over to the volunteer.
We don’t need them,
just like the man in the leather jacket
observing the saucy section
of the secondhand novels
doesn’t need the polo shirt
he just donated with a John Grisham.
There’s a woman crouching
down at the crockery section by the window
stroking a cake tin like the hand of a lost lover.
Her husband is behind her,
sighing with relief that the running shoes
she just pointed him towards are size 10 and not 11.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

The man with nearly zero body fat
wants me to start taking cold showers.
He’s talking about improved circulation,
a reduction in muscle soreness,
pain relief, and lowering my stress levels.
He reckon it will help me sleep,
but I’m too busy watching him
behind my warm phone screen.

© Carl Burkitt 2023

Some pubs have people
made of the stuff that built the walls.
Bricks for bones and floorboards for skin.
This place has Geoff who cannot sing.
The crowd has hearts for ears
and they won’t stop beating for him.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

You’re desperate to know the answer
in your high chair opposite the TV.
Bukayo Saka is celebrating an early goal

and I’m thinking, because of the speed
he can travel around the world in one night,
how Santa would be a marauding fullback

or perhaps a holding midfielder
because of his infinite wisdom.
I tell you, actually, he’s quite an old guy

so realistically he’d be a third choice goalkeeper
but you are singing a song to your broccoli.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

You sleep with a face
that hates not being awake.
Your eyelids shift
left and right like the jaw
of someone trying
to cool a hot chip down
in their mouth.
You float on daytime tarmac
like a shark who cannot rest.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

She admires the care and attention
people pay to something they love,
the patience, imagination, and skill
it takes to help dying greatness
have moments of polished joy.
The nurses arrive on Thursdays
for her to watch the show
with a cup of dairy free tea
and take a break from her craft.

© Carl Burkitt 2022