I’m only going to ask you for one thing.
From now on, I don’t want to have a name.
When you see me, just say “Hey,” or “Howdy,”
Or, “Oh, how lovely to see you this morning.”
Don’t say a word about the apostle,
who I was in the life before this one,
when Astor Place had a sky and no hotel,
and I was lithe and irritating,
with my dance moves and hopes and repartee.
From now on, don’t talk of what I became.
From now on, talk to my eyes and my skin.
And no introductions. And don’t call me John.