Not What I Remembered

I saw the label in the cooler and I reached

without thinking. The purple logo, bleached

at the edges, same cheap font I knew at eight.

I paid. Sat in the lot. I didn't wait—

popped the tab. First sip was wrong.

Too sweet. Something chemical and strong

underneath. I kept drinking. Thought

the taste would come back. It caught

warm in my hand by the time I left.

Drove home with it rolling. Bereft

is too large a word. Just: not the thing

I'd kept. I finished it. Some offering

to the idea the last sip would be right.

It wasn't. Threw it out. The light

in the kitchen. Stood a minute there.

The taste still in my mouth. Still where

it has no business being.