Poetry in the Ocean

Octopus Love

On the glass of the wall, at the end of the hall,

Oliver sprawled eight legs out tall

In search of a way out of his cage

To meet with the lady not far away.

They had never met, but he knew she was there.

He could not see her and he had not dared

Before tonight to brave the air,

And walk the distance to her lair.

He searched with his suckers until he found a hole

At the top of his tank, just big enough for a soul,

Or a mouth just like his, yes, his beak could fit through.

So he pressed himself up to the hole in the roof,

Until his beak had gone through and one little leg, too,

His gills grabbed a breath, then with a shove, he was through.

The air in the hall was quite unfit for him;

It was far too dry and much, much too thin.

He slipped down quickly to where he'd never been.

Then he sauntered with swagger as he held his breath in.

He searched each tank as he passed it by

Hoping he'd find her before he should die.

And just as he thought he'd run out of breath

There she was, stretched out, with her legs on the glass.

All three of his hearts jumped at once in his head,

And his gills made a squeak of joy as he led

His body up the side of her tank. And as he passed,

He matched his suckers with hers on the glass.

He found a small hole on the top of her tank,

And pushed himself through; with a splash, he sank.

He took a deep breathe and fell into her arms

They embraced, wrapped around one another in the dark.

They shared a fresh meal of lobster and fish.

She taught him to dance and he taught her to spit.

They juggled crabs and tossed seahorses,

Blew bubbles and built a sand fortress.

Then, with one last hug—a sixteen leg knot--

Oliver went home, vowing to return to that spot.

And as the aquarium-goers littered the hall in the day,

Oliver sat dreaming of his visit down the way.