My octopus, why must you spend
Your life in silent solitude?
(Forgive me if the question's rude...)

So self-effacing that you blend
In with the background seamlessly,
You're more than just the scenery.

And though you don't possess a spine,
You're able to avoid all traps
By squeezing through the smallest gaps.

No standard sweater could confine
Your agile limbs that total eight,
Enough to clutch the coyest mate.

The number of your brains is nine,
One in each arm, one in your head;
At least, that's what your doctor said.

Invaders may be forced to drink
A blinding cloud of pitch black ink.
This final thought before we're through—
Unlike ourselves, your blood is blue.

©2020 Michael Fraley

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