Today's poem is by Benjamin S. Grossberg

Valentine's Day with My Octopus Lover
       

No candy? I ask. Not even
a card? He smacks
a tentacle against the top
of his squishy head. I know,
I know you're busy, but—
We're on the porch swing,
in front of us a veil of rain,
and he is, my octopus,
mesmerized by it: having
spent so much time
in water, is entranced still
by the various shapes
it takes. He slides a tentacle
into my hand and braces
two others against
the house, rocking us.
Then he rests his mantel
on my shoulder. So I start
describing it, how we
might, one day, stand
side by side: me tuxedoed,
him flushed houndstooth,
and something large—
a gold bangle—slipped
on the end of a tentacle.
An officiant pronounces,
and he brings me in, his
tentacles fastening one
by one behind my back
like a series of latches.
What do you think? I say.
It can't be so crazy for
an octopus to want that, too,
can it? The rocking stops.
I look over to see
he's fallen asleep, his
mantel against me slowly
expanding and deflating
with a gentle woosh,
a sound almost completely
drowned out by the rain.

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Copyright © 2024 Benjamin S. Grossberg All rights reserved
from The Greensboro Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission