O Pocky! My Pocky! our shopping trip is done;
The pack has weather’d every press, the space we sought is won;
The chair is near, the squeals I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the slender line, the package red and daring:
But O mouth! mouth! mouth!
O the tell-tale drops of phlegm,
Where on the bench my pocky lies,
Fallen prey to them.
O Pocky! My Pocky! Rise up and hear the crunch!
Rise up! For you the flag is flung; for you the panties bunch!
For you cold plates and milk in cups; for you the mouths a-gaping;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their joweled cheeks a-draping;
Here pocky! Dear snack!
This arm beneath your stem;
It is some dream that from the pack
You’ve fallen prey to them.
My Pocky does not answer, its base is pale and still;
My chocolate does not feel my arm, it has no pulse nor will;
The groceries are safe and sound, their voyage closed and done;
From fearful tack, the promised snack, comes in with Pocky won;
Exult, O fans, and ring, O cells!
But I, with morunful hymn,
Walk the ground my Pocky lies,
Fallen prey to them.
With apologies to Walt Whitman, who originally composed O Captain! My Captain! about the death of Abraham Lincoln.