An Ode to My Afternoon Comrade

He, I assume,
twitches his tentacles
rubbing them covetously
like scrooge awaiting payment

I sit in front of him
radiating suspicion
narrowing my almond slit
in warning.

Suddenly he attacks
Pearl Harbour;
dipping and diving
into my drink, my fruit, my cake.

I wave my frantic hands
to attack and rid
detestable enemy
black with glazed wing

Still, he sits
gauged glare towards me
taciturn, declining to twitch
he sits still

All is silent
I sit smirking
at his size
but suddenly

a second round of invasion.
He hovers over frenetically
zapping and zooming in the air
darting towards me.

Picking up my fork
I dive into revenge;
fruit, cake, tea, all
battlefield annulled.