Self Portrait With Baby Octopus

It lies in a porcelain bowl, Steeped in its own juices A blue eyed blob, collapsed Its tentacles hang limply over the sides It is a festive offering, a feast It is coffined in the deadly air, Plucked from its ocean playground Its limbs like Medusa's hair In this country, it is a delicacy Offered to special guests. My hosts are watching My throat begins to gag It lies in a porcelain bowl, Steeped in its own juices A blue eyed blob, collapsed I feign a smile, take up my spoon And drink the watery fluid That embalms the proffered corpse Then, hazarding offence, Bowing, I quietly leave the room