OK, so it has been a while since I’ve exposed my all too patient and tolerant (and, largely, fictional) readers to a poem, so without further ado, I present you with…
Uncle Floyd’s Fabulous Fruit Fiasco
Allow me to regale,
you all with a tale,
of Eve, my Uncle and me.
It’s an odd one for sure,
and you may think it pure,
imagination, concoction, and lies.
Whatever the case,
I have a straight face,
as I remember the details and facts.
It begins quite simply,
and ends quite wimpily,
but between there are many strange acts.
It started with a notion,
the idea for a potion,
out behind our country home.
As my Uncle would say,
when you work with hay,
your mind’s got a penchant to roam.
He’d been pondering you see
’bout human destiny,
and all the stuff that’s packed into a gene.
What about the fruit, he thought,
they’ve got a lot
of potential that just isn’t seen.
Now he set out to read,
’bout the way to breed,
better apples and oranges and pears.
And then he realized,
that if capitalized,
he’d be richer than the bulls and the bears.
So he started to tinker,
and become quite a thinker,
on the subject of cutting and splicing.
If they got up to walk,
and perhaps even talk,
well then that was merely icing.
He began with an orange,
but that didn’t work,
because nothing rhymes with orange.
So he moved to the pear,
and as quick as he dare,
started to muck with its DNA.
But when that fruit glowed,
my Uncle was slowed,
and forced to consult with the FDA.
He pressed on despite,
all that government might,
hiding from the light of the day.
Very soon in our barn,
I could tell quite a yarn,
’bout all which was hid in that hay.
Quick as could be,
signs of life could one see,
all within the rind of a Bartlett.
It would glow with our touch,
and even moved I would vouch,
though my Uncle insists I had startled it.
Soon it was on to an apple,
as ideal as a sample,
as one could ever hope or dream.
It was simple but brilliant,
and even quite valiant,
at least that’s the way it would seem.
It played chess with me,
and what a memory,
of the conventions required of that game.
It would demand its moves,
by a series of glowing behooves,
such that I felt it was deserving a name.
It was a Macintosh in breed,
least that was the source of its seed.
And really, who would have believed.
Yeah, well, I’ll just leave it at that…