Albert, Adam and the Orange

Once there was a genius,
Whose name was Albert Screw,
Excellent at all and there,
Was nought he couldn’t do,

Or so he thought until one day,
His friend set him a test,
To write a rhyming poem ‘bout,
The fruit he liked the best,

So cheerfully did Albert go,
To do what he’d been asked,
Sat down at his desk did he,
And in his smarts he basked,

He knew which fruit to choose at once,
An orange, did he pick,
Cos he always kept one handy,
Should a snack be needed quick,

He thought about the orange,
Sipped some coffee from his mug,
And told his brain to find a rhyme,
But all it did was shrug,

The reaction instantaneous,
His eyes flew open wide,
And coffee that had once been in,
Was now compelled outside,

Bitter juice sprayed everywhere,
And made him cough and choke,
Albert’s brain had failed him?
Was this some sort of joke?

There was no rhyme for orange?
Then what was he to write?
But Albert was resourceful,
And would not give up the fight,

For hours he trawled the dictionary,
Thesaurus and the net,
There had to be an answer,
He just hadn’t found it yet,

The fruit it seemed to taunt him,
Sitting, dimpled and grotesque,
And if oranges could smile,
Then it was smirking on his desk,

Giving in to anger,
He stormed across the room,
And grabbed a book with which to send,
The orange to it’s doom,

And just when he had raised the thing,
With anger almost tribal,
He stopped and saw the cover,
He was brandishing the Bible!

The rage it ebbed away at once,
And Albert flashed a smile,
The answer he’d been after,
Had been here all the while,

For who was it who’d named the fruit?
But Adam, the first man,
And if he’d called it something else…?
Our Albert formed a plan,

So quickly now he set to work,
A time machine he built,
Using all his stationary,
And that coffee that he’d spilt,

It didn’t take him long to make,
Around about an hour,
It whizzed and whirred in Albert’s hands,
An awesome thing of power,

He set the date and flicked the switch,
Then hurtled off through time,
His anger fast returning,
As he thought about the rhyme,

There was a flash of blinding light,
And Albert shut his eyes,
Then opened them to fields of green,
And richly azure skies,

So, orange tightly clutched in hand,
He set about his quest,
And found Adam sitting ‘neath a tree,
And snoring in his rest,

The sight was such a peaceful scene,
But Al was seeing red,
After taking aim, he hurled the fruit,
Direct at Adam’s head!

The shot was right on target and,
The man leapt to his feet,
Massaging the bump,
And looking dazed and incomplete,

Albert, sauntered over,
‘Well I hate to burst your bubble,
But if you don’t listen to me now,
The future is in trouble,’

Adam simply nodded,
‘Well, this is a little strange,
But if it’ll help the future,
Then just tell me what to change.’

Albert grinned a stupid grin,
And listed his demands,
Making sure to say them all,
He counted on his hands,

‘It’s all about that fruit,’ he said,
And kicked it with his toe,
‘That stupid outer layer,
Yeah, that’s really got to go,

Make it easier to open,
A little sweeter too,
And then I’ve never liked the colour,
Think it might be better blue,

Have it spiny like the pineapple,
Aesthetically it’s cool,
An’ it’ll stop the little kiddies,
Always racing them in school,

I’ve taught in many primaries,
In secondarys, more,
And countless times I’ve seen that fruit,
Roll down the corridor,

But the most important thing is last,
The name just doesn’t work,
Orange rhymes with nothing!’
Adam gave a smirk,

‘Got to have some mysteries,
And things that can’t be solved,
And anyway, it’s not my fault,
That’s how your speech evolved.’

But Albert, he was desperate,
‘Look, I’m pleading with you, please?
Forget about the other stuff,’
He sank down to his knees,

The very thought that he was begging,
Was causing Albert Screw to cringe,
‘For the poets, God, I beg you,
Change the ‘ange’ into an ‘inge’’

Adam rolled his eyes, and nodded,
He still had ‘silver’ anyway,
And thanking him profusely,
Albert went upon his way,

With Eden empty once again,
Adam turned to God,
‘He threw an orange at my head,
What a pompous sod!'

‘I’ve seen into the future,
And though you gave me life,
If that’s what we turn into,
Thanks, but no thanks on the wife.’