With headscarves hiding balding heads
their bodies sweaty and faces bloated
they scanned the stage
lifting cables, replacing them
tuning, listening, retuning
trying to hear, above the hum
of the impatient audience

Strobe lights flashed, colours came alive
on the stage
felt more ghastly than transcendental
with no music to connect
the final light check

Stage seemed to be in a fabricated haste
shuffling feet, grand movements
a diva’s demeanour or performance fear
only they could tell
for the audience though
it spawned a long wait

Musicians hovering over instruments
placed themselves
the lead stood tall, central and elevated
left heel raised behind the right
shoulders hunched, neck moved inches
forward from the chest
to me, looked like a turtle’s head
had pushed itself out
of its closed shell

Pulling the mic out from nowhere
he caressed it with tenderness
tapping, whispering, almost kissing it
at first glance
a genuine warmth on display
the artist and his muse
tuning into mutual wavelengths
my mind though played a sensual image
someone making love
to themselves
tired with the long wait
I had tuned somehow
into my own adolescence
boredom can turn into deviousness
sometimes

Suddenly,
massive woofers came alive
blaring drum beats and synthesiser notes
trumpets, saxophone and melee of instruments
pulling me away, from the eros
unfolding on the stage
liberating me from delving further
into a forbidden space