Equinox at Frank’s

Equinox at Frank Seago’s

It’s Christmas Eve 2018,

I’m alone in a frigid kitchen

beanie-hatted to beat the cold

trawling late-night radio options,

swerving drunkards singing carols, 

the crazy shite on phone-in shows –

plus jingles praising senna pods –

when right out of the blue I caught

a snatch of Coltrane’s Equinox.

I’m back in 1966,

a Debden council-house front-room;

cat-scratched armchairs, vinyl couches, 

and sundry drop-outs smoking dope.

The house rule? Three drags.  Pass it on.

The joint’s too strong. I cough. Uncool.

Frank rifles music from a pile,

‘Listen. These sounds will change your world.’

My world dissolved with every note

of Equinox and Love Supreme.

The tenor swept me far from Earth

to inner space. Jazz space. Dream space.

This girl, on the arm of my chair,

reeking of sandalwood and weed

pressed against me playing footsie. 

Nibbling my ear…  Promising… Sex?

I preferred My Favourite Things.

She had a brittle teenage cool

and put-on estuarine hip drawl

but all she knew of men derived

from youth club chat and Valentine.

Privately she liked The Beatles,

Susan Maugham and Dusty Springfield,

but wanted  me,  so made out like 

she dug Coltrane and Equinox.

In spite of Valentine advice –

‘virtue is precious – hold it fast’ –

she sucked me in and had her way.

Inevitably.