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Even after the bandages
are off, my post-surgery hand
still feels like I am waving
a Mickey Mouse glove
as I walk the block
in Phoenix heat.
But I won’t duck into
the cool A/C yet—
not while I’m watching
the old black-and-white
neighborhood street cat
chase off a coyote
five times his size,
then saunter back, leap up,
and stretch himself long
across my neighbor’s truck roof.
Wile E. returns, crouched
behind a pile of Apache-gold rocks, waiting.
I love this desert.
People keep trying to
put a fork in its belly,
proclaiming we’re cooked.
Oh no.
Tomorrow there may be
blood in the street,
but it won’t belong
to us desert-rat
cool cats.
© 2026 Jennifer Wagner
