It was hiding under a pile of nickels

It was hiding under a pile of nickels

and two AA batteries that leaked white dust.

The plastic is yellowed, a cheap rectangle

bearing my name in a font that feels like a cage.

I poked my thumb on the safety pin,

a sharp reminder of the 6 AM floor,

the smell of industrial floor wax

and the way the sliding doors hissed.

There is a smudge on the first letter,

a ghost of a thumbprint from a shift

where I didn't stop moving for nine hours.

I should throw it out,

but my hand is still shaking.