Playing Your Song

Wouldn’t it be nice
to wake up someday
and hear yourself
embedded in a love song
by someone else?

Picture yourself
on your morning commute. It comes up
on the car radio, the plain old radio:
not an oldies station, not a stream
or a CD or God forbid a cassette
or 8-track.

Let it be upon
broadcast — let it be announced
as the smoking new single
at the top of the hour — let it be
so clearly about you sweat through
your clothes.  Let it
handle you roughly 
all the way up the highway.

You walk into the job shining.
Nobody will understand why you
are practically untouchable that day —
you will be too busy trying to listen
to memory and hoping you’ll hear it
on the way home.

Even if
you never do hear it again,
you can from that moment on
choose to believe
that somewhere someone
is playing your song.

That they hum a few bars now and then.
That they remember all the words.

That they wonder if anyone else
knows the words, wonder
if you’ve heard it,
wonder if you know.