the sting
of the ice-cold water
on my arm,
from my hand to my
elbow as i dipped
it deep
into the metal bin
at the corner
store, searching
through the watery ice
for a Nehi orange
or grape soda.
ten cents for a
twelve-ounce pop.
two cents
for returning the bottle.
my lips are still
blue
or orange, at least
in thought.
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