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.

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