Turns of Full Disclosure

By Scott Wiggerman

Until I go to the restroom

at the crowded Rec Center,

I hadn’t thought about human trafficking,

which I would not have considered

had the urinals not all been out of order.

In the tight stall, the trafficking hotline

number is taped to the door, unavoidable

as I try to clear enough space

to get my awkward body out

the door—after flushing, of course.

We have discussed poems by Tony Hoagland,

who claims that prayers should be

flushed down the all-American crapper,

along with the whole human dominion.

Let it be rain, he writes.

Let it be wind, he writes.

Let it be a wren and her brood.

No thoughts and prayers, no trafficking,

just being, letting, going.