Atlanta on a Wednesday in a February

my eye itches;
it's cold;
everywhere.

the mighty ibis
on the side of the highway
waves its wings
as I head to the airport.

I charge my phone, 
crack my knuckles,
put on my seatbelt
in the Uber.

I'm really happy for you;
I'm really happy for me;
this is weird.

Bleeding from burns
and ankle,
You will be the last
to know.