I Always Wanted Harrod's Muesli. - Poem by Zack Holland
I always wanted Harrods muesli; fifty pence a gram:
The golden flakes were smeared with chocolate mixed with damson jam.
The oats were fine and freshly milled
And stirred with fruit, hand-picked;
The pack was bursting- overspilled
With more than I could depict.
It came inside a thick, glass box, which made it look so fine;
A royal crest on the box’s chest was such a noble sign.
For EIGHTY grams ‘twas FORTY pounds-
And I know that’s quite distorted-
But you didn’t hear the wondrous sounds,
That came from those who bought it.
Alas, I couldn’t even dream of spending that amount:
A single box of Harrod’s oats would empty my account.
So forty months went by,
Without a single luxury oat;
Just now and then I’d get a high,
By imagining them gracing my throat.
But then, my luck changed drastically, on a stroll through public grounds;
On Birdcage Walk, on the verge, in some bark, I caught sight of fifty pounds!
I looked around from left to right
A little more cautious than usually.
Then down I grabbed and stuffed in my pockets
My ticket to prestige-packed muesli.
I rushed towards Harrods with cereal eyes; I ran like a kid with my neck out:
I remember the doors- but the rest is a blur- in a flash I was there at the check-out.
I sped past a lady dressed fine in gold silk,
And she scowled down her nose like a duchess.
But all I could think of was pouring the milk
On these flakes I was going to purchase.
I arrived back at home with the oats, in my clasp, and I suddenly felt quite surreal;
I felt a bit nervous to try my first bowl: just how would they make me feel?
I held up the box to the light-
For the moment I wanted to savour;
Then I opened the lid and with darling delight-
The room was on fire with the flavour.
I took my finest-looking bowl and brought out the milk from the fridge.
Then just for an extra I added some nutmeg, and cream too- but only a squidge.
I let the ice-cold milk and the oats sit;
The jam and chocolate looked bountiful.
With a spoon I perused for a heaped-upon scoop:
And the walls watched me take my first mouthful.
Then the walls seemed to scream at me asking, “Well then, how does it taste? ! ”
I felt stupid- the flakes were so ordinary - I could feel the walls jeer, “What a waste! ”
Though the fruits were quite fruity and fresh and hand-picked
They did not taste of mountains of money.
For the price, although nice- I felt sad I’d been tricked
And the muesli could do with more honey.
What a fool I have been! I said loudly- why’d I think these would make me so happy?
Forty notes, for these luxury oats- but quite frankly they taste rather crappy!
I thought of all the years that I’d spent
Aspiring to buy luxury goods:
For pricey things, no birdie sings
And you can’t buy a walk in the woods.
Now, whenever I walk by past that muesli, I quietly laugh to myself
And the Gods sing their songs of where beauty belongs-
which is not in a shop on a shelf.
And the world is a new place to me now,
I see such a glow in the sky.
Through the woods I so happily dance now:
For there’s nothing I’m desperate to buy.
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