One night he said he was leaving for Melbourne
fleeing his fixed-in-position-family
handed me the last of many letters written on "borrowed" shop dockets
and the first of those on notepaper.
There followed other letters, telling how
he discovered winterfeasts and drunkenness
and cut his heel off on a bit of broken glass
and life was good selling weights to would be strongmen
but the Melbourne rain was like my tie,
and he didn't laugh so much now.
Then he disappeared.
But I know he existed
and I remember him.