The new book comprises several unnumbered sections, separated by sequences of ultra-short poems. There are sections on Melbourne city life, some notable female writers, American film noir, and (somewhat dispersed) the poet himself.

The book’s opening poem, ‘City workers during morning rush hour, Collins Street’, locates us firmly. It also establishes the bewildered and jostled narrator with whom we become steadily more familiar. ‘How vulnerable you are,’ the poem ends. ‘How strong you are. I want to reveal your / Essence via the camera of this poem, as you swarm and / Rush in the business district, glancing at your wristwatches.’ We encounter the same figure again in ‘A Melbourne letter poem to Ken Bolton, 21 August, 2012’. ‘I sit in Self Preservation, / unwinding but alert / in the clatter / of people’s lives ...’

Bakowski is more than an observer, however. In his tributes to a succession of women writers and artists, he demonstrates his well-established talent for what Kenneth Slessor called ‘metempsychosis’. ‘Leaving West Texas’, on the other hand, offers a poignant Breaking Bad moment, all in two pages rather than over thirteen episodes.

The short poems interleaving the longer ones also display their usual charm. Personal Weather is well up to Bakowski’s distinctive best.