Sour
Paint-peels
under the temple tree,
on wooden carts with bicycle wheels.
Coins and plastic cups of tea.
Grouped into two: deep red and dead black;
Sleepy fruits, on either side of rusting
iron scales down with weighing stones,
unsold and unappealing.
Hopelessly sour
your face, your mind
resigns hour by hour,
burnt by the afternoon sun.
