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This poem is taken from PN Review 219, Volume 41 Number 1, September - October 2014.

‘Farm Foot Fist’ and Other Poems Thomasson Taylor
Farm Foot Fist

The blixen wind, the blue-black ridge
of switchback – hills of green-glazed stone,
of slipcast earthenware and hand-thrown
summits, sintered by the savage

heat and heathen summers of Ngong.
Beware the bushbuck, naked flame,
the buffalo, and thieves. The name
means ‘knuckles’ in the Maasai tongue.

From north-north-east, nomadic cloud.
And from the west, the wide-eyed hikers
wander narrow footways, like a
slow-mo rollercoaster. And the crowd –

a host of dark forget-me-nots –
is growing in the parking lots.



The Call

    for Anne


And from the south, the misty mountain called her,
through the mouth of Mr Mungai, Year Three Geography,
...


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