The 1970’s was the era I came of age.
Towards the end of the decade I spent much of my time in London. My uncle/brother was closely involved with a member of the Qatari Royal Family whose main occupations were shopping and clubbing so, as an adopted member of his entourage and with all expenses billed to the royal account, no libidinous caper was beyond the wish of this healthy young man.
Hot to trot to Ronnie Scott’s
holding hands with the girl on the pretext of slipping, heels
and polished concrete, always wet. Me, dextrous as a thief,
safe as a bank vault guides her pliant steps to Peppermint Park
to hang like we meant it ignoring red skies going dark
and chairs dressed in crushed green velvet and pink piping
we tipped like notables and hoovered up cocktails
while sparklers struck fireworks she snuffed with her nails . . .
At The Park, in a booth in the dark, Keith Moon knifed
tapas and salad with Annette, Linda and Paul. The night he died . . .
© Rivenrod 2017 | Photograph from the Blitz series by Rivenrod published by Barre Meunier 1980
Originally published at rivenrod.com on April 11, 2017.