The Truth About Wind

Wendy, Wendy what went wrong, oh so wrong?¹
The Beach Boys sang of her and, at fifteen,
I wanted to find a girlfriend named Wendy
to go along with the song. And then,

one frosty night in Ole' Cheyenne, I sat
in the backseat of someone's car with
my arm around a girl named Wendy.
How did I get so lucky?

I kissed her and though she kissed me back,
there was nothing there, nothing between us.
I had her in a full embrace in that backseat,
but she was totally unimpressed.

Was I a bad kisser? Did she want something
more than kissing? I was way too Catholic for that.
Wendy, Wendy left me alone that night
on a gusty prairie outside of Cheyenne where

we teens went to make out and drink beer.
I thought the song's title was "Windy," imagined
the wind on a California beach, ocean roar,
sand caressing my toes, the musky smell of

sun tan lotion and summer freedom -- I hot-
dog it for my Windy, hang ten on a surfboard.
The song runs through my head even now --
but she really wasn't interested -- not at all.