Bobby Willis came to call.

I'd just gotten off a tractor

And was covered in dust

From head to toe.

I'd been running a swather

And smelled like diesel 

And Red Man chewing tobacco.

I'd talked to him a time or two before on the phone,

Back when I thought I might make a living as a writer.

I thought he was a publisher of sorts,

And had sought out his advice.

He was touring with a famous troupe

And had them stop their big bus 

In the middle of nowhere, Texas,

And drive it all the way down the little trail that led

To our windblown yard, 

Littered with dog-chewed bones and soiled paper plates.

He wanted to see if he could pick me up

And take me back with him to Manhattan.

The musicians were crawling everywhere,

Like kids who'd never seen 

A harrow plow, a pinwheel rake,

A New Holland hay baler.

They were climbing on the rusted farm implements 

And jumping down into the sand.

My dad came out on the porch,
Still eating a ham sandwich,
To see what all the ruckus was,

With my cousin Debbie right behind him.

She recognized the band and wanted some autographs.

The bus driver pulled me aside

To show me a small metal safe keeping box

With letters that Bobby had written to me

That he had never sent,

And the times and places where he was

When he'd spoken to me on the phone,

And his notes regarding our conversations.

"He is really smitten with you," the bus driver whispered in my ear.

I hadn't even seen Bobby yet,
And had no idea what he looked like,

But I went in and packed a bag.

Maybe he'd caught me at a good time,

Or maybe it seemed his thoughts of love 

Would see us through.

Then he came around the end of the bus

With a big smile,

And I was happy for both of us,

For I could see a real tangible expression

Of his love and affection for me

Growing strong

Right there in his pants,

Between his lovely pockets

That overflowed with paper notes.

More love notes for me, I hoped.

But he was 62, I heard him answer Debbie,

And I was seventeen,

And my dad wouldn't allow it.

I've never been sure what Bobby Willis was,

Except that, for me, he was, as Rupert Holmes sings,

"One of the people you never get to love."

-jenn