The Pickled Octopus Poem by Hans Ostrom

Why do I own a brown
baby octopus, pickled in a jar
of formaldehyde, purchased in 1965
at Fisherman's Wharf,
specimen as souvenir?

The bulbous-bodied octopus
leans permanently in broth,
suction-cups revealed. Fascinated
for four decades, I'm
asking for advice.

Is the octopus in the jar
right or wrong? To be hidden
or displayed? If I dispose of it—
how? Would you like to see it?
Tell me the truth.

Hans Ostrom Copyright 2007