The drawer gave up a receipt

The drawer gave up a receipt,

pale ink, years gone by.

It wasn't for anything I'd bought,

just tucked inside a lie.

Then came the thought, a little click,

of plastic, bright and green.

A tiny dinosaur, a quick

grab, a petty, silent scene.

Felt so big, that stolen thrill,

a rebel, small and dumb.

Now it's just a dusty chill,

a memory that's numb.

The chipped paint, a broken horn,

on that plastic lizard's head.

A secret kept since I was born,

and nothing good was ever said.