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    Papers

    My name is Jimmy Lee Jenkins

    Everyone calls me Boo

     

    I play fiddle in a country and western band

    We sing songs about our families and the land

    We’re out there playing three hundred nights a year

    Wherever there’s bright lights, wherever there’s beer

     

    One night in Tulsa right after the show

    I’m walking toward the bus

    When up comes a fan with a pen and a piece of paper in his hand

    Autographs? Man, I’m so tired but it’s part of the job

    I sign it “JLJ” and hand it back to the man

    “You’ve been served!” he yells

    Turns out my wife wants a divorce

    She’s sure that I’m cheatin’

    We got no kids and she feels incomplete ‘n’

    I guess I don’t blame her

    But why didn’t she call?

     

    A hundred nights later

    We’re playing three shows in Iowa, a club in Sioux City

    Half the crowd is Mexican

    And everyone’s sportin’ cowboy boots and buckles

    It’s one of those magic nights

    The crowd loves the music and there ain’t no fights

    In the bar later, I’m washin’ the road from my soul

    This woman walks right up to me

    She’s a little thick where my wife was thin

    She’s wearing the same style cowboy hat as me

    She’s as pretty as my fiddle solo on the encore

    Says her name’s Maria

    That our music reminds her of her daddy’s band back in Mexico

    I’ve been drinking a while so it just comes out:

    “So are you a groupie or what?”

    She laughs, touches my arm and says:

    “What’s the difference between a groupie and love at first sight?”

    My turn to laugh

    “I guess we’re about to find out”

     

    Second night’s show I keep missing cues

    Looking through the bright lights for Maria’s smile

    But all I see is memories

    We get no encores and our manager lets me hear about it

    I’m not listening

    “Easy come, easy go” I try to convince myself

    Next night I play better but I’m feelin’ ‘bout the same

    Comin’ out the restroom I hear a voice call out my name

    “Jimmy Lee!”

    Maria’s there, she grabs me from behind

    Face to face, she sees my questions on the way

    So she puts a finger cross my lips

    “Raids,” she say

    “Raids last night

    I got no papers so I stay out of sight”

     

    Now it’s a year later

    Maria and I are at the Tijuana airport

    The man says my papers aren’t in order

    “You’ll have to come with me”

    They keep me in a little room

    I wonder if they want a bribe

    Turns out there’s a typo on my passport

    Cleared that up with a little “extra fee”

    Just barely made the flight

    Got to Guadalajara and spent the night

    In the morning we rent a car

    And drive up to the edge of the mountains

    To the village where Maria was born

    Reminds me of my hometown in Tennessee

    There’s food out in every house we visit

    And of course we drink for free

    There’s an all night party in the square

    Sometime after midnight I take her dad up on a dare

    And grab his brother’s fiddle to sit in with the band

    I tell him I don’t know this kind of music

    He pokes me friendly in the stomach

    I think he said “Just play what’s in your soul”

    So off we go

    Playin’ songs about our families and the land

    When we wake up the next afternoon

    We write a song together

    We’re gonna record it next visit

    In the studio he’s building

    With money Maria and her brothers send home

     

    Years later Maria and I are sitting in a banker’s office in Nashville

    We’re sure we’re gonna get that home loan

    “Everything seems to be in order” the man in the suit announces

    And I think I see a smile

    “There’s just one thing

    I don’t see your marriage license here anywhere”

    “Don’t have one,” Maria says nice and easy cause we just don’t care

    “Ma’am,” he answers, “We’re a Christian bank and the business that we’re in…

    Well, I don’t mean to offend

    But we’re not in the business of putting a roof over sin”

     I can’t believe this guy but gettin’ mad won’t help

    So I just look over to where our kids are sitting

    Brown, white, and beautiful

    They’re sittin’ there like angels

    Doin’ just like they were told

    Even though they’re only two, three, and four years old

    “Excuse me sir,” I say with a sweep of my hand

    “But do you see the work of Satan here?”

     

    My name is Jimmy Lee Jenkins

    Everyone calls me Boo

     

     

    Poem / 2008

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