Ode to a Perfect Willy - 1. Ode to a Perfect Willy

Ode to a Perfect Willy

Willy McAdam, man of our time,

Perfect and punctual, always in line.

Buy you a drink? Lager and lime?

Willy McAdam, man of our time.

Willy McAdam, man of our time,

No longer young, still in his prime.

A drink would be great. Bottle of wine?

Willy McAdam, man of our time.

Awaking each morning, alone in his bed,

Living with mother, until she be dead.

Breakfast is ready her voice calls on through,

Crispies or toast? One piece or two?

Hop to the bathroom, jump in the shower,

Hopelessly useless, lacking in power.

Scraping his chin, brushing his teeth,

Using his hand to find some relief.

Catching the bus, a beautiful day,

Giving his seat to the lady in grey.

Perfect gent, but what would they say,

If only they knew that Willy was gay?

Coming alive, subduing a sigh,

Onto the bus comes one with blue eyes.

Greeting the man, unwilling to ask,

Nodding politely, retaining the mask.

Boarding as always on 5439,

Regular as clockwork, always on time.

Young and attractive, full of intrigue,

Distant and lofty, out of his league.

Private emotion, hidden desire,

Physical attraction, lighting his fire.

Desperate to add a name to that face,

Hanging his head in shameful disgrace.

Willy is here, they call on arrival,

At last, someone cries; he has no rival.

Help me to do it, a colleague does plead,

Willy's our man, he's what we need.

A popular man for what he can give,

Helping and building, making it live.

Quietly eating his lunch on his own,

Watching them happily chat on the phone.

Join us tonight, out for a drink,

Reluctant when pressed, just let me think.

Come, they all plead, we'll go for a jive,

Down in reception, meet us at five.

Why did he come, he wonders inside,

The noise is too much and nowhere to hide.

Taking his drink he sits by the fire,

Stares into flames reaching higher and higher.

A life meant for sharing, shouldn't it be?

They could all do it, why couldn't he?

Without being asked, he knew what they’d say,

Probably hate him if guessed he was gay.

Wished it were different, can't change a thing,

No hope of romance, never a ring.

No point in dwelling on what wouldn't falter,

He'd hardly be making that trip to the alter.

Couldn't be angry, bitter or mad,

No one to blame for why he was sad.

A mother at home for whom he should care,

That was his purpose, why he was there.

Time to go home, dinner to make,

Watches to check, excuses to fake.

Just enough minutes to the 5439,

To drink up his glass of lager and lime.

Ready to stand, looks up in surprise,

Mind if I sit asks the man with blue eyes?

See you each day when we wave on the bus,

Don't really know you, but my name is Gus.

Both of them knew it, it was there in the eyes,

No longer hidden by secrets and lies.

My name is Will, my friends call me Willy,

Try not to giggle, I know it sounds silly.

Can I get you a drink? A lager and lime?

Why did that sound, like your place or mine?

We talked by the fire, he knew it was right,

Came out of the darkness and into the light.

I'm not what you think, he said with a sigh,

A smile came from Gus: neither am I.

I've watched you for months on the 5439,

Hoping to meet you, biding my time.

Surrounded by friends, glasses of wine,

Raising our toasts, making him mine.

Holding him close. So perfect, divine.

Willy McAdam, man of our time.