Akkorakamui’s gonna nab you,
if not with his long-reach tentacles
then by his noxious inky exudate
or foul-smelling body odour. Whew! You’ll
wanna flee the scene a.s.a.p.
lest you burn out both nostrils
in a caustic neural holocaust.
Akky baby! Got eyes the size of dinner plates,
trained peeps trained on sea-farin’ folk
fishin’ off the south coast of Hokkaido.
Lurk beneath the waves. Spy finger food.
Pretzel insect men on deck manning nets,
sad lanyards. Optimist novices
who ain’t seen their shadows yet.
Oh! To pluck a plum or two aft deck –
just a little snack or two sailor human treats.
Oh! They’d be so sweaty ‘n’ sweet –
Shot through with adrenaline seasoning,
Still warm and crunchy – Yum! Yum!
My beak’s a flamenco caustic castanet.
I’m slavering after yer flesh, you bet!
Could snag a few like litter with
my eight-legged sucker-cupped tentacles.
Make a tentative date for – say – six:
dinner at Volcano Bay beneath the waves.
Whaddaya say? Could be a famous plot slot
in it for you. A minor part in my gourmand feast,
but, stiil, proof I exist, if you bring a camera at least.