Here's a poem about a love of mine.
Berocca
My chalice awaits in the wooden casket.
I reach up toward it, glistening and gleaming.
Slowly downward I take this chalice.
I fill it slowly with crystal clear water.
I feel the ice cold sparkles on my fingers.
I pick the Berocca from its small snug shell.
Surrounded in its foil wrapping,
like a Knight awaiting a battle.
I drop it slowly into the diamond water.
It spins and fizzles like a crazed ballerina.
Round and round and round,
The colour turns into sunburst,
I am filled with excitement and anxiety.
It spins and spins and spins,
Sadness lurks at the back of my head.
Smaller it goes, smaller it goes.
At the bottom of the glass, it moves.
Effortlessly it moves.
Then it floats and reaches the top.
The crescendo mounts, and its time has come.
It slowly fizzles away.
There is silence.
I look at my dark deep sun.
The sunshine glistens through it.
So cold, so beautiful.
Intoxicating, enriching.
My day begins, and my soul is safe.
this a beautiful ode to a vitamin drink! i like the slowness of the poem, it’s like the slowness of your brain in the morning. I could do with some berocca right now!
Hushdie, are you on their payroll?
I think that hushdie would like to spend the rest of his days swimming in a river of flourescent berocca, until he is pure vitamin and his skin a strange translucent orange. He would become the Berocca man - wet, nutricious and content.
I will call my first girl-baby Berocca. She will be a really orange, fizzy baby.
Just like those kids who drank so much of the vile synthajuice Sunny Delight they turned orange. They turned orange! And then their obese guts opened and they died! (allegedly)
I see it as a testament to Hushdie´s status as the new messiah. I´d like to drink his fizzy flesh at communion, then follow it up with a Jaffa cake.