Worn Plate

Found it in a drawer,

this old key chain.

Said it was silver once.

Nickel plate, I guess.

The 'silver' rubbed off,

a dull, dark patch

where my thumb used to rub.

Feels light now,

flimsy,

like a promise made

when money was tight.

A stand-in.

Not the real thing,

but close enough, they said.

A bitter taste

in the back of my mouth,

like I swallowed a coin

from a bad bet.

Always a stand-in.

Always just

good enough.