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.