The vending machine is
any day of the year,
no packets of pigs in blankets
or slices of bubble and squeak
in sight. The chairs are decorated
with October snot and August
infection cream. Mariah Carey
is the Next Patient buzzer.
A red cheeked elf in Gruffalo PJs
is curled up on Santa’s knackered lap
whispering Christmas adventure
as he spots the tree in the corner
with the NHS bauble.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

They stand in rows looking around the room at the meats, the breads, cheeses, the paper plates with reindeer running, fizzy pop, odd jars, name tags, cellophane, lost glitter. They listen to voices making any sound they think they have to make. They wait patiently for hands to escape, to just be themselves.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Three felt dinosaurs. A glass pig.
A glittery slice of pepperoni pizza.
A bodyless penguin. A vegan sausage roll.
A WWE table. A WWE ladder. A WWE chair.
A sprout. A sequin penguin. A pug.
A rainbow star. A non-talking Father Christmas.
A Robin. A jar of soy sauce. Frankenstein’s monster.
A red and white bauble with your name
written in the relief of silver, permanent ink.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

They just get on with it:
wearing trousers, sipping mint tea,
eating careless breakfasts,
colour coding spreadsheets,
nodding when spoken to,
not letting dirt sit on their shoes,
rearranging lanyards around their necks.
They just get on with it:
breathing, moving, blinking,
listening, getting out of bed.
They just. Get on with it.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

There’s a half eaten apple
in my trouser pocket
covered in spit from a mouth
I would let take a bite out of me.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

I want to be
able to ask questions
like you
with the confidence I will not
want to two-foot tackle
my own shin bones
when someone rolls their eyes
to what can’t be undone.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

Orange is a determined head.
Purple is slow and steady.
Blue is trying its best.
The other blue does not know the rules.
Red is on the floor torn in half.
Yellow does not want to die.
Green is searching for cheese.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

She told me her name was short
for Evening and I believed her

because she was a night owl
and her eyes were dark and tired.

Every year on her birthday
she said she was 24 again

and tomorrow was Christmas.
I believed her because

her hair was red and green tinsel
and I always felt full in her company.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

If you are reading this
rest assured I tried my best
to make you smile
with my festive out of office,
but the likelihood is
I’m probably back at work
and forgot to turn automatic replies off.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

There they go,
the curly lads
who got me through
the cold days. Who’s
that grandad in the mirror,
hairline like a vampire,
refusing to die?

© Carl Burkitt 2022