The Blue Loop

That blue loop twisted tight

in the pocket of a jacket I haven’t worn

since the job folded shut like the last day’s paycheck.

Plastic cracked, edges yellowed,

a card I didn’t swipe enough times

lies dull against the cord’s stubborn twist.

I hold it, stiff with memory,

a tag for a self I barely recognize—

clocked in, clocked out,

tied to a place I wished away,

yet here it is,

the ghost of me hanging silent,

a loop that won’t let go.