The sign hangs crooked on the post
‘Wanted, girl or bloke
To share the hiring of a four wheel drive
Got your fifty dollars?
Got your travelling shoes?
Come with us, we’re leaving on the ninth.

Call Michael.’

The sign hangs crooked on the post
The ink is still unsmudged
No tatters torn, no edges soft with rain
Did anyone call Michael?
Did the number ever ring?
Or did the plea send out its word in vain?

Call Michael.

The sign hangs crooked on the post
Beside the intersection
A friendly invitation or reproof
Did anyone respond?
Was there any bloke or girl
Or did all south bound travellers stand aloof?

Call Michael.

The sign hangs crooked on the post
The date has been and gone
Its message is as old as last week’s bread
Michael put it there
But who will take it down?
Will anyone remember what it said?

Call Michael.

If you called Michael’s number now
In the dimness of last week
(The sign hangs crooked still upon the post)
I wonder who would answer
Would there be a message there?
Call Michael and you might bespeak a ghost.

Call Michael.