I reached for a receipt but my fingers found this

I reached for a receipt but my fingers found this,

a 'Hello My Name Is' tucked deep in the wool.

I remember the lobby, the way I would miss

every cue for a handshake, acting the fool.

The ink on the sticker has started to smear

because I was sweating through my shirt in the heat

of a room full of strangers. I stayed in the rear

and pretended to find something good on my feet.

The back of the badge is a fuzzy, gray mess,

covered in coat lint and strands of my hair.

It’s lost all its stick. It’s a ghost of a dress,

a version of me that I didn't want there.

I peel back the fuzz with a shaky right thumb.

It feels like a weight, or a brick, or a stone.

I’m back in that coat, feeling clumsy and numb,

wondering why I can’t leave myself alone.