A Small Loss

An ambitious octopus, one evening, suck
slurped its way out a decorative aquarium and
heaved its soft, gummy body all of three long
feet before finally expiring atop a blue area rug.
The next morning, touched by his valiant
efforts, Susan, the weekday receptionist at Montvale
Pediatrics, mounted a paper sign written in colorful lettering,
several inches above her sitting head on the glass
sliding window where
it hung for weeks. It read “Sleep tight, Ink Pot”.

And seven year olds,
grasping their mother’s hands impassively
as checks were signed or before loli-
pops were doled out, sounded it
out in undulating syllables “InK poT—
what’s that mean?” to which Susan would
always answer “For a friend
who’s seen better days.”

Then the mothers would smile
downcornered smiles with their eyes
squinting at child and then back up at Susan and
they would leave.