An Ode to Crunch, Or Crunchling’s Lament

He arrived, a gleam in his eyes; it betrayed, belied, yet cast all pretense aside.

Setting forth, looking port; not right, though not wrong, adventure throngs

among throngs overlong. Queued to queue their boxes emblazoned,

they stand and they wait, mostly patient. Then he arrives,

fully sated, to sate of them, that diverse gradient,

that which they desire; and to do so blithely, his dejection laid bare,

was an affront to Him that simply could not stand.

Out of their pockets they pulled bowls, spoons, and cartons of milk,

and stood poised to show the fool the wraith of Crunch’s ilk.


Captain Crunch is a love of mine, and after being so horribly offended when I was given a strange look for purchasing a box this morning, I had to write this.