<iframe src="//www.googletagmanager.com/ns.html?id=GTM-K3L4M3" height="0" width="0" style="display:none;visibility:hidden">

Poems

Host

6 June 2015

9:00 AM

6 June 2015

9:00 AM

In eastern Congo years ago on a road logged into a hill
I drove or was driven one evening to see pygmies
who claimed they were being eaten. This was possible.
I’d met a woman with my name who’d watched the fire
on which her arm was cooked and then devoured.
The pygmies turned out to be lying and this isn’t about pygmies.




Already a subscriber? Log in

Subscribe for just $2 a week

Try a month of The Spectator Australia absolutely free and without commitment. Not only that but – if you choose to continue – you’ll pay just $2 a week for your first year.

  • Unlimited access to spectator.com.au and app
  • The weekly edition on the Spectator Australia app
  • Spectator podcasts and newsletters
  • Full access to spectator.co.uk
Or

Unlock this article

REGISTER

You might disagree with half of it, but you’ll enjoy reading all of it. Try your first month for free, then just $2 a week for the remainder of your first year.


Comments

Don't miss out

Join the conversation with other Spectator Australia readers. Subscribe to leave a comment.

Already a subscriber? Log in

Close