© Sandy Baker 2010
Bobby begged me to go on a hayride
Though I swore we had no relationship.
Romance is what he was hoping for
But that’s the last thing I wanted from him.
Hay piled onto an eighteen-wheeler,
No old-fashioned wagon with horses.
We could get cuddly and cozy, he said,
Just like the other couples . . . oh, sure!
Bobby was a Zac-looking cowboy
Who always wore boots and blue jeans.
Felt hat pulled down over close-cropped blond hair,
His blue eyes drilling straight into me.
He competed in calf roping events
When we hit the horse shows and rodeos.
But he didn’t do himself any favors
With his big-Bubba swagger and bravado.
Such a crisp autumn night for the hayride
With some frost and chill settling in.
He was shocked when he saw my warm blanket,
No excuse to pull me close to him.
The other couples were sure staying tight.
I could hear only murmurs and kisses.
This ornery dude ignored all my signals
And his moves were strictly all misses.
The million stars shone especially bright
As Bobby’s eagerness became consternation.
I played amateur astronomer that night,
Naming every heavenly constellation.
Thank you to Sandy Baker, one of my wonderful writing critique partners, for permission to use her poem The Hayride in my blog. See Sandy’s website at: www.sandybakerwriter.com