He walked across
with furtive footsteps,
snapped his smile,
belied by eyes
that won't meet mine.
"That lanyard. Do you
have to wear it?"
That lanyard.
Pink, one-worded
memory of a march,
of when I walked
with thousands,
filled to bursting
with a loud, explosive
pride.
"That lanyard," I replied,
"I won't be wearing it again."
