Equinox at Frank Seago’s

 

Christmas Eve 2016

shivering in a freezing kitchen

bobble hat to beat the cold

surfing late-night radio stations,

swerving drunkards singing carols 

and jingles praising senna pods –

 

out of the blue I caught a snatch

of Coltrane’s sublime Equinox.

 

my mind zipped back to ‘66,

an Essex council-house front-room;

cat-scratched armchairs, vinyl couches, 

sundry drop-outs smoking ganja.

 

the rule? three quick drags - pass it left. 

I inhaled. my head imploded.

 

Frank picked L.Ps. from a stack,

A Love Supreme and Equinox,

 

‘this Coltrane cat will blow your mind.’

 

Trane swept me into dream space, jazz space.

my head free-floated ‘someplace’, until,

reeking of sandalwood and weed

this chick sat pressed right up against me,

 

she was middle-class, but slumming, 

wore freshly ironed  beatnik gear and 

spoke in posh-voice 'Village' slang,

 

‘wow! far out, man! dig it! good shit!’

 

she kissed my cheek, squeezed my knee,  

‘psst, fancy sixty-nining with me?’  

 

my mind was on My Favourite Things.

 

her mother warned her frequently,

‘keep a firm grip on your ha’penny,’

but

she wanted a ‘first time’ with a hippy - 

I was at hand she settled for me.

 

while all she knew of sex was drawn

from youth club chat and Valentine.

she made a sucker out of me,

 

eventually.