There’s an octopus in my oatmeal,                                                   

Breakfast has now become quite surreal.

He told me his name is Clive the third

And was dropped in my porridge by a big yellow bird.

He’s small and squidgy, two inches high,

Purple and pink, a bloodshot left eye.

He tells me that he wants to go back,

Turns my porridge inky blue with a panic attack.

I fish him out and give him a hug.

Tentacles grip my thumb tight and snug.

He tells me he’ll love me forever

But if I don’t get him home he’ll kill me however.

I place him gently back in the bowl,

Contemplating his dark squiddy soul.

I fling him upwards into the sky

Hoping that yellow bird will fly by.