Michael Hoerman

What the Welcome-to-Our-Town Billboard Didn’t Tell You 

God help you, stranger,
Left to your own devices.  

Maybe a get the hell out, maybe a broken tooth.
With the moon shimmering in that haze
It’ll be hard to tell a bad drunk from heatstroke. 

Oh yeah, the church-on-Sunday penitents—
That’s another story. But not now.
There’ll be time and little else. 

Here’s the secret, friend.  

Go up the mountain, tell your troubles
To the first man you meet.
There’s motive. 

Now, down on your knees begging to get out.
That’s opportunity. 

As for means,  

The tourists think it’s so quaint—
An entire town
Walking around with clean hands.


 

 

HOME