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At dusk in the swimming of poor brown eyes
The cousin, lost for decades, emerged
From down the avenue of eucalyptuses
And his hands were trembling
Just a little bit
And his bow-tie was out of kilter
His suitcase heavy in his left hand
His right holding a scrap of paper
Good evening, he said, Jonathon?
Of course, and Paul, it's been so very, very long.

They walked together, the long lost cousin
And the nearly blind retired soldier
To the pension where the landlady had prepared a lacklustre super

The mist had been heavy for weeks seeming months
And the city dark like night through most of the daylight hours
The housewives couldn't dry the washing
And the children, the ragamuffins, with their new-found night-vision,
Were running riot.
But with Paul's coming things lifted
And the two awoke to a perfect spring day
And the landlady's tuneless singing
While scrambling a pair of eggs.