Once upon a time,
not that long ago,
an apple didn't shy
its bruises you to show

thin peel it had, oft pecked,
perhaps with hole or two,
with speckling was it decked,
but apple through and through

its taste was sweet divine
with touch of pectic acid
as glass of cool, sweet wine
left you feeling placid

it had no time for guise,
no patience for facade,
'twas same with common guys,
not engulfed in fraud

today the skin shines waxy thick
veneer of chemical gloss,
like a spill of oil slick,
as ocean covered by dross,

the phd, academic degree,
they're all the same to me,
it's not the person that you see
but thick base trickery.

cut beneath the surface
there's no real apple there
just a mere lip-service
to its humble grand forbear.