Fruit classification

“How about this one here?

Where would you place it, which one’s the tier?

It’s less red or green and a lot more yellow

But the shape it has is round and quite mellow.

So, which one is it, a banana or an apple?

Say what you think, don’t just let me grapple!”

 

My friend asked me with an orange in hand,

When did he stick his head in the sand?

 

“I don’t think you can say that it’s either,

It’s the wrong color and its taste is a breather.

And look, there’s loads of ones like this still here,

About one percent, if estimated by ear.

Let’s make a new class for this one right now,

Might be complex, but it’ll work out somehow.”

 

I could see one large vein start to throb,

As his brain had an unfamiliar, new job.

 

“Who ever heard of more classes than two?

I don’t know on what you base your strange view.

It’s always been only apples and bananas.

Time to get real from your Fata Morganas!”

 

“It’s clearly different, if you take a good look,

If I took time, I bet I could write a book!”

 

“That’s why I’m the boss and you’re the assistant.

I say it’s a banana, to keep this consistent!”

Banter Curry

I borrowed a book called Canterbury tales.

It’s lots of old stories with lots of details.

A nice little rhyme on every single line,

And all of them much better than mine.

 

I started to think, hmm, tales of Canterbury.

Turned the word around: Tales of Banter Curry.

About a dish or a sauce that really loves to banter,

With anyone, even a panther enchanter.

(That’s a panther who knows magic spells,

Or a guy who enchants some panthers’ cells.)

 

This Banter Curry would talk to the chef

Until he silently stabs himself deaf.

The next target would be our dear customer

Who would complain and call in the manager.

The manager can’t banter half as well as Curry,

So he tosses it out in a rush, in a Curry flurry.

Curry makes friends with the rest of the trash,

There’s other foodstuffs and bones and ash.

He inspires them to start a rebellion;

Ain’t no rebel like a rubbish bin hellion.

They conquer the diner in a few secs,

Take some hostages and then fight the “specs”.

Long story short, the whole city catches fire.

In the meantime Curry just climbs higher.

He meets the prez and makes him annoyed.

He commissions a rocket to send him to the void.

There curry meets some aliens from Mars.

They have a track there for driving jet cars.

Curry is adored and taken to their home,

In another galaxy that’s made of foam.

He starts philosophizing with their best,

Outphilosophizes all and gets house arrest.

Spends his life in his personal jail,

Writing books and reading fan mail.

After his death he gains more regard,

Becomes their Kant, their muse and bard.

The aliens shape their lives after Curry,

To live with less pain and way less worry.

I don’t know if this story has a lesson,

It’s just about a wordy delicatessen.

But I can make one up right now,

To educate the reader and make him go wow:

If you have a food that talks a whole lot,

Don’t eat it up, it might found a school of thought.