Mango Tree

My mango tree passed on spring flowers to fruit again.
Dad planted this Hayden 60 years ago.
He peeled them, blade against skin.
They hang there, green to yellow-red.
We ate most of them when all of us were here,
Only a few wasted.
I see the most mature, over-ripening yellow,
Before the brown rot,
Birds gripping stems, pecking holes.
I eat maybe ten these days.
Most fall to the ground.
I bag them when fermentation and fruit fly swarms
Become too much to bear.
All phases of the fruit’s cycle displayed,
Frame by frame until the last one falls.