Octopus Tool

The octopus tool could not be located,
no matter how hard that being had to try,
he searched and excavated far and wide,
from the depressed android totes in his
bedroom that's the size of a walk-in closet
in a McMansion to under the seats in his
depressed android grocery getter that's over
a half-decade  in age, and he went far and
wide searching and scouring the landscape
like a Bedouin caravan searches and scours
for an oasis in the Sahara desert or how a
neophyte geologist searches and scours
and excavates for evidence of volcanic
evidence in the  extreme northwest corner
of Arizona, but he was unable to find the
octopus tool that goes by common monikers
like Bic, Pilot and Zebra, so he walks away
from his vehicle in state of being that's the
root mean square between dejection and joy
because he can now sip his hoity-toity coffees
from a stainless steel sippy cup, like all the other
overgrown babies that never got past the
oral fixation stage in their lives, but life is still
full of surprises, because a member of the
fairer sex gabs away on her cell phone and
smoking a cancer stick while  sitting in a
captain's chair on her small  third-floor
balcony as he scuffs the once immaculate
sock bottoms because the word shoes
didn't exist in his vocal repertoire at that
moment in time, and she is still dressed
in her medical scrubs, dark blue if sight
serves correctly, and an off-color joke
comes to mind about a proctologist
that was writing prescription with a
thermometer, the punch line is
something about an a*****e
having his pen, his octopus tool.

Reviews

[Brad]

hahahahha...a bit noir-esque...love the flavor of it