Strawberry or Maybe Nothing

I was looking for a charger in the old bag —

the one from when I was seventeen —

and a ChapStick rolled out across the floor,

store brand, the label rubbed clean.

I know exactly where that thing came from.

November, white-lit aisle, I just took it,

slipped it in my pocket, walked out cold,

waited to get caught. They overlooked it.

I used it twice. Then lost it in the lining.

Fifteen years or close. And here it is,

grey and waxy in my hand

under the fluorescent, and the thing is:

I can't remember the flavor.

Strawberry. Cherry. Or maybe plain.

I stood in that aisle and took something.

I'm still not sure what I was trying to claim.