[Poem] Trample

There is no mango that refuses to hand

But let it rot and stink

covered with dark spots

quietly throw away

All the sweetness and sourness in summer is only the fermentation in the kitchen waste bucket

goodwill scattered everywhere

It's full of flies crawling with ants flying all over the sky

The pulp that separates the peel is not poked

I also knew that the juices were already flowing underneath

I still want to hold my hand almost

want something else