My knee is clicking with the storm

My knee is clicking with the storm.

A low pressure system is moving in.

I found a receipt in an old wallet,

faded, greasy, and thin.

A cheeseburger at the diner on 4th.

2:14 AM. No one else was there

but a waitress named Dot who kept

her cigarettes tucked in her hair.

The sidewalk was slick with an orange light.

I ate that burger in the rain.

No candles, no cake, no singing—

just a quiet, singular gain.