Who are you?

In ‘78, the year before Thatcher’s experiment poured acid on our dreams, life was simple and full-on. We were proud to be young and the hunger to discover all we could be, was excessive. For those of us who were truly alive, we raged without thought to consequences or the hobgoblins of malignant evil limbering up in the wings.

Hot to trot from Ronnie Scott’s to Peppermint Park,
to the grind of delicious rhymes
her hot buttered breath sighs sex to my ear
in time to the rhythms of dead-beat musicians.

I hold her hand on the pretext of slipping
heels on wet brick
safe as a banker’s bonus, a dextrous thief,
I guide her pliant virtue to Peppermint Park
to a booth in the dark
to velvet green cushions and piping hot pink
to hang like we mean it
where fingers are snakes
probing and scheming.
I ignore the red sky that glides through her eyes
the ice moon waxing between her thighs
the million mob and the camera crews
but tip like a notable and hoover up cocktails
that blaze hot sparks she snuffs with her nails.

At Peppermint Park, in a booth in the dark,
drinks and Keith, Annette and McCartney
talk about Buddy and things Rock and Holy
the night before Keith fell apart.

Linked: A Girl’s Night Out

Words: Who are you? By Roderick Jarlaith McRiven
Pictures: From my sketchbook: Ronnie Scott’s, Girl’s Night Out and 3 am – By Rod McRiven.
Photographs: Peppermint Park, Keith Moon and Annette (various sources).
References: Keith Moon Peppermint Park Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club What really happened the night Keith Moon died?

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