Leah Mueller

idling in front 
of a street sign
named Tucson:
jet black letters

printed on a slice
of sheet metal
in all caps, upright
and screaming
for attention

traffic lights 
beam sonic red 
on fast food parking lots
and rooftops

steadfast, they wait
to grant permission
for chaos: volume
turned way up to
its highest setting

the coyotes sound like
ambulances: they build
to discordant crescendos
then stillness and 
back to wailing again

please let them know that
nobody listens anyway

once this land was 
covered with cacti
and horizon, and now
people are hungry all 

the time: they never stop
needing something
at the last minute before
the store closes