If I wrote a book

- you could turn the page to read about
the shed he built which had no roof.

In chapter 2 you would hear the story
of the wrong suitcase,

know that once we laughed.

Chapters 3 and 4 could be for the wedding
when he dressed as a clown,

the atlas he left for the baby
the shame of sharing other beds.

But this is a poem so I will just tell you that
he went away.