Portrait

All writing is a bit autobiographical, and this one carries a fair bit of me, though this guy's cooler than I'll ever be. The liminal places are mine, so is the list and the cargo pants. The chocolate-dark humour, less so; that's me laughing at the dad jokes. He's a voice that turns up in my writing sometimes, and I decided to give him a portrait. The idea comes from Melbourne poet Peter Bakowski, who periodically writes self-portrait poems, check him out, he's brilliant.

Portrait

He wears cargo pants,

Rides a motorbike,

Carries a notebook, pen

And an honest, sharp knife.

He likes girls, bikes, books,

And other fast things.

You won’t find him in crowds,

You find him

Out on the edges

Where the action is.

Dusk and dawn,

Beaches and banks,

Footpaths and traffic islands.

Surfing the skinny branches

And riding last year’s trend

Like it was brand new.

That smell you like

But you can never quite place,

That was him.

There,

And always

Heading somewhere else.

He has humour like good chocolate

Dark, bitter and a hint of

Not from around here.