I must admit I stole the octopus.
At the party. By the aquarium.
I wasn't mixing well. I mean,
others were making friends,
renewing acquaintances,
tipping, sipping drinks,
tittering conversation.
I remember, nibbling an hor'deurve,
something from the sea inside.
I felt a touch on my back slide down.
Seductive introduction, I thought.
And turned to see a tentacle reaching
from out of angel hair and algae,
a sack-like head and a lonely eye.
Life is simply a series of connections,
disconnections. Suction and wet choices
with the shirttail out.
Under my coat, departing -
the highest form of mollusk
with a lower form of mammal.
A match perhaps not made in heaven
but what the hell.
Copyright 2007 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.