Plastic Remnant

I found it crumpled, a thin blue thread,

in my jacket pocket, long unsaid.

The plastic holder, cracked and gray,

from that networking, wasted day.

Some conference name, a logo bland,

I wore it tight, across the land

of forced smiles, wishing I was gone,

a cheap prop, hoping to belong.

It scratched my neck, a tiny sting,

this flimsy, sad, forgotten thing.

I should have tossed it, let it lie,

but kept it, somehow, to remind me why

I hate those rooms, that empty grace,

and my own eager, hopeful face.