When I Become More Interesting

When I become more interesting
I’ll wear my hair in tight cornrows and sell
goat’s milk in open-air markets every Sunday.
I will become fluent in binary code
and send smoke signals to acquaintances from the tips
of the clove cigarettes I will have started smoking.
When I become more interesting there won’t be
a bar in Budapest that doesn’t anticipate my order,
and I’ll be banned from Rite Aid evermore.
I’ll play the baritone sax for jazz bands,
but also for marimba bands who didn’t know
what they were missing.
When I become more interesting I will be Baha’i
and have Latin tattoos, and I will of course
cook breakfast for my skydiving instructor.
I will always remain lucid during dreams.
I will perpetually be mistaken for celebrities
and will have changed my name to something
without vowels.
When I become more interesting
they will send recordings of my voice to space,
and I will star in silent movies, and wherever I go
the temperature will adjust to 76 degrees.
I will have at least tried cannibalism and my will
shall state that I should be cremated and put in the paint
of a portrait of myself, or else I’ll be buried at sea.
When I become more interesting the Oxford English Dictionary
will accept my name as a verb meaning "to simultaneously
fluster and fascinate," and since it will be
unpronounceable, any third grader who
can use it in a sentence will qualify as gifted.
When I become more interesting I’ll turn nocturnal,
or else I won’t sleep at all, and I’ll spend nights
climbing ropes and reading Russian novels,
and I still won’t golf or watch medical dramas
but I will have a bungalow in Panama
and chickens that litter the yard.