I want to be different the next time you see me.
Not just the hair, the cologne, the clothes.
I need to hear the honesty in your voice
when you say, “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Then I need to work on that word “almost.”
The dog will fetch the ball every time I toss it.
I don’t want to be the dog.
I’m not even happy as the master.
I love the way the ball hits a rock
or a twig or a lump of grass
and takes off in a whole other direction,
at a different speed.
Sure, I’d like a shot at being the ball.
That is up until the first drop of doggie slobber.
And when I’m driving around and get lost,
I no longer wish to panic.
I promise to enjoy not knowing where I am.
And if the cable goes out, it’s no longer annoying.
It’s liberating. Even more so,
when the cable comes back
and I’m not around to watch it.
I wish to try the new flavor,
listen to a group I’ve never heard before
just because I like their name,
and no – other women don’t interest me,
but another you is a different story.
If I could change my life and then change it again,
even change it back if that’s what suits me –
even the same old me
would come across as transformation.