I seem to be specialising in the pleasure of cold drinks, and walking, which is terribly imaginative ...
it's not for me to say right now, but there may be some personal interest in looking back at this and seeing what themes are inescapable ...
WUNDANYI
There’s not been better than a large cold coke
at Tsavo Hill Café, a sun-straight day
when shadows hide; shoes, shirts alike are soaked
in sweat, the hour’s walk up from Mbale
infused with “How are you”s and “Mzungu”s
and grimaced greetings barely whispered back,
The bursting thirst as you pass growing queues
And road replaces rutted red dirt track.
One task - no stopping yet at Aftab Khan’s
General Store for that week’s chocolate hoard.
No other business to take on, no plans
Beyond that loaded fridge, that first glass poured.
A panting mountaineer now on the brink -
You sit, you sigh, you wipe, you smile, you drink.
OLHAO
Let loose, I strode around that fishing town
As rainclouds glowered, the afternoon on edge
of sleep enforced; I could not batten down
my temper, had no compass, had no kedge
to yank me back to dry land. Squinting out
towards the lived-in isles across, I played
with all outcomes of solitude and drought,
but stood, thank goodness, wholly unafraid.
The headphones, as so often, filled my world;
I played that manifesto of homely
Contentment I had never sought, My Girls –
A life, as yet, which looked so far beyond me.
You know the rest, ten years have passed, my world
Is written by the words I heard – My Girls.
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