There’s An Octopus In My Oatmeal.

Published October 21, 2020 by Naomi Rettig

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.

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