Plastic and Rust

In my jacket pocket, a badge bends,

plastic cracked where the clip bites deep.

The photo’s faded, a ghost behind glass,

the face half-remembered, half-forgotten.

The lanyard’s rough edges scrape my skin,

a stubborn thing that holds no power now,

but once was weight, a marker of a place,

a key to doors I never opened.

I grip it not for use, but for memory,

for the small comfort of holding something

that once meant something,

now just a relic tangled with rust and cold.