Banana

The first time I go

To a supermarket, I was six
Hot, and weighted down
With one banana in my pocket.
July. Hot air flowing
Around my face, my sweat
Down my forehead, then drop.
As I walked toward
The market, the one whose
Neon light burn colorfully
Night and day, in any weather.
The shopkeeper looked at me,
For a while, and keep counting money.
I trembled, touch my pocket,
And went into the shop, across
The stream of people and
Millions of drinks, snacks
And newly print comic.
I turned to the fridge
Thirsty like beasts,
And reach out to what I want—
Light in my eyes, the beats
Louder and quicker
in my heart. I fish out
A banana in my pocket,
Which was brought
From my dear mother.
And when shopkeeper watched the ice cream
That cost 1$, but a banana
Cost no more than 0,2$
I didn’t say anything.
Just keep looking
Into his eyes, sincerely
His eyes meet mine,
Knowing very well what it was about

Outside
The stream of people still passing by
Air flowing like vapous
Upon the hot-pot.
I block my head
It still feels pretty hurt.
Then put my hand to
 Peel the banana
It been in my pocket for
Too Long, and turn little black
Just like my mood
From that on, I never go to supermarket
Along, and never
Pretend to be pitiful for sympathy