A Moment Of A Peel

Oh constant reader, I lay before you my dire poetic lament
a modest petition from a humble orange
who nature has cruelly cursed
to ever live in the shadow of that dreaded “other” fruit.

How I and my race have been horribly snubbed
by the taste bud bias from mortal lips,
bearing the shame of a typecast legacy,
the sad tale bearing our regretful fate
as the lesser choice in the clash between peels.

So I sit in the produce bin,
each hour slowly decaying my orange skin,
recalling all those injustice of fame
bestowing their claim upon those wretched apples.

For where is my Johnny Appleseed hero equivalent?
A Johnny Orange Peel sounds cool to me.
It was no brother of mine William Tell blessed to use for target practice.

And what of those times humans choose to sip our juices,
apples become sparkling cider, so rich and sweet,
whereas my family is turned in a drink called Orange Julius
our nectar remember with an image of the Devil with a pitchfork
is that truly fair to suggest apples are divine and we are from hell?

This plots of man has spread to even further dastardly ways,
nobody talks about an orange a day keeping the doctor a way,
even in color that darn apple gets the nod,
red is the hue of blood and courage
green a tint for passion and more.
What do I get in return,
just to be lump in a citrus family association
all some shade of yellow, only gets you labeled as a coward!

The undeserving apple even gets its name added to a computer
while all we get is to be known as some sticky marmalade!

Do I really deserve this prejudice, can you have mercy on me?
I know my skin is putrid to your lips unlike the apple,
but if you will just spend a little time with me,
then I’ll give you all I got,
with seeds left for planting a tree.