HIDDEN GURU:

Every Saturday, through the summer of ’69, me & the two
invisible boys cycled six miles to visit our Guru.
He’d appeared to us first as a travelling salesman but
now that his true identity was revealed we were drawn
to his flame, enthralled by his stories of a secret life
in the Emerald City. Was it a moment of weakness or an act
of charity that inspired him to reveal his address?
Either way we took it as a green light to drop in whenever
we needed & we needed weekly.
He lived in a modest semi on the new Oaklands Estate, built
on ripped up tennis courts in the grounds of a grande pile
where Mom & Dad used to play back in the day. That’s when I
lost any interest in the game, unable to lift a racket with
even two hands, but loving the sound of my parents laughter.
Me & the invisible boys
had expected a more esoteric dwelling,
but guessed he must’ve chosen it as a cover. The dust green Ford
was always parked round the back, but strangely disappeared soon
after we knocked the front door. It was a big deal to find him gone,
our hopes of stretching out on his orange leather sofas,
listening to music brought back from the great city in the South,
the latest releases from Islands Records & stories of recording
sessions with legends – it was all crushed on the days his Ford
de-materialised, but we kept coming back. The Guru was our only
link to a world that existed on Thursday night TV, he was our
bridge to a ridiculous dream.

(K)