Greeter, Briefly

In the bottom of a box,

under receipts and a dead watch,

a small plastic shield.

My name, printed thin, a cheap label,

'Greeter' below it, stark and plain.

The pin on the back, still sharp, could prick

my thumb, though it never did then.

I held it, light as a lie,

and saw the girl I was, her smile

stretched, slightly tight, to fit the role.

That name, that word, a stranger's part

I played for weeks, then cast aside.

But seeing it now, the ink a shade

more faded, feels like a debt unpaid

to a self that stood behind the glass,

watching her own brief moment pass.