Meeting the Gypsy Kings

When I was a teen

I held my nose and retching 

Downed a cup of slimy

Mushroom tea

At my friends house

In Kentish Town

Whilst my friends 

mother’s swish party 

Was in full swing

we sat in a circle

In her basement bedroom

Staring at our hands

Perhaps Hours passed 

I found myself

Upstairs 

In a room full of

Short Mexican Men

Who all looked the same

Propelled by 

Uncontrollable giggles 

In a flash I was back to 

my pulsating hands, 

our circle in the basement

Spliffs and 

The Beastie Boys

15 years later

I spent 36 hours 

Listening to 

‘The Best of the Gypsy Kings’ 

On repeat

Midwife to a woman in a labour

That was as stuck as I was

My intuition screamed at me

To change

The music but

I didn’t know then what 

I do know now

20 years later 

Perched in an

Andalucian white village bar

Listening to Bamboleo

Shattered but Incorruptible