Cabinet of Curiosities

You suddenly recall Status Quo hosted
a 4-day R and R bash here once.
No tall tell since your remembrances are
always authentic.
I imagine the 70s banquet;
drugs , drink and dolly birds.
Nothing that might have raised an eyebrow
with its original owners,
favourites of the Tudor king of excess,
Inevitably  wiped out by time and taxes,
a grand hotel for decades now.
 
In the court yard, well-to0-do guests
kiss each other in cut-class greeting.
Here for Sunday lunch like us
but Barbours and Mercs suggest
not on a Groupon voucher.
I picture with a smile, their shudders and tuts
at the idea of working class lads,
with enough readies to roll reefers with,
hiring this whole hotel for a knees up.
 
In the bar, place again taps a memory
Opens a drawer in that cabinet of curiosities
That is your past to reveal treasure.
Your mate Malcom was a session player
So part of that era’s casual freemasonry
amongst musicians.
With your uncanny timing
You run into him in the street,
receive his ‘Do you fancy it?’ with a grin.
 
Familiar faces stepped down from posters
and out from album covers to party.
Band members faithlessly jamming
with other musicians.
The premium booze and designer drugs
at odds with the working class buffet,
sausage rolls, sandwiches, crisps.
You only spent the afternoon,
having pledged to open up the family pub.
Duty like a Pole Star would always
guide you back to safety.
But footloose Martin lost his way amongst
the 70s siren song of excess.
I am always greedy for such anecdotes,
devour the second hand experience.
Yet, simultaneously smart with the suspicion
you have withheld them like riches
in a secret bank account.
Envy's caustic burn too that such opportunity
overlooked my gadfly years.
But in a life fecund with adventure,
impossible to recall every uncurated memory.
Similarly, after a life time reading about life,
I find the many narratives do not come to me when called.

Fiona Sinclair
 
If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Fiona Sinclair would be pleased to hear them