A poem about Farley’s Rusks to brighten up your day!
Farley’s Rusks, you’re an international icon,
Your round crumbly form, transports me to days bygone,
Ever present, on the high-chair tray,
Or down beside the washing machine, where they fell one day,
I once found a doughy lump, underneath the fridge,
It had clearly been in my son’s mouth – it had a little squidge
I took a glance to my left, to check no-one was looking,
And yes, I popped it down the hatch, before continuing with my cooking,
The little bits of green fluff on it, must have been bacteria,
But the need to gobble it up, drove me to near-hysteria,
But yes indeed that was an error, to tell the whole story,
As I spent that very evening, poised on the lavatory,
I found one on the booster seat, I thought to myself ‘oh shucks’,
Even though it retained some warmth, from my baby’s buttocks,
Yes, I ate it, that’s quite sad, just how far will we men go?
My mate Kevin once ate a piece, he found in a box of Lego,
But the point of this woeful tale, is to ask oh why indeed,
Were rusks so utterly delicious, when my baby needed to feed?
Once my son was eating one – doing quite alright,
When I ripped it from his very hands – he put up quite a fight,
And when my wife came to see, if her boy was still breathing,
I said “Don’t worry dear, he surely must be teething”,
Every day I watched my kids, struggle with their nourishment,
Praying they would have enough, I offered no encouragement,
I could wait for hours on end, for just one puny nibble,
Pouncing on the squashy bits – (because of infant dribble),
Friday saw a quarter rusk, Saturday, a half,
Sunday I took a whole one, Monday I did barf,
Why are rusks in circular form? A square may be more practical,
Draw inspiration from Toblerone, make a triangle – equilateral?
If you make a grown-up rusk, please do keep me informed,
We may start a national craze, Oh Farley, you have been warned,
Chia-rusk, Flax seed, Kale-rusk and Spinach,
Real rusks for adult tastes, instead of bits unfinished,
Cash in on the health-food craze, corner that hippie market,
No longer will long-suffering Mums, scrape bits out from the carpet,
Alco-rusks, beefy-ones, or veggie-rusks, and meat,
Instead of stale and hardened lumps, I find stuck to my feet,
Roasted-rusk, risky-rusk, rested-rusk rice or regular,
You could offer me a marketing job, I’ll be a full-time Grown-Up Rusk pedlar.
Dan Jones, on the Perth-Glasgow train, Scotland, March 2019.