Twas two nights after Cephalopodmas, and all through the lab,
All the Deeplings were ready for beer and boiled crab.
Their table was set, napkins folded with care,
All that remained was for Dr Bik to get there.
Kevin spiked the eggnog with Kraken Spiced Rum,
And assured me one sip would leave us all numb.
Miriam in Brown sweatshirt, feeling warm as an otter,
Prepared to drop doomed crustaceans into hot water..
When out in the hallway there arose such a clatter,
Craig sprang from the lab to see what was the matter.
He then reappeared, what had he forgot?
“Bourbon!” he barked, so I poured him a shot.
We followed him outside into the new-fallen snow
Where Dr Bik’s car lights were brightly aglow.
When, what to our booze-addled eyes should appear,
But Dr Bik with arm-fulls of all her field gear
“Now Kevin! Now, Miriam! Now, Craig! And now, Rick!
Don’t you dare eat those crabs, lest you all become sick!”
“I’m sorry to say, our post-Cephalopodmas plans I must foil!
But my data shows Gulf crabs are tainted with oil!”
While we’d rather spend the night singing holiday carols,
Instead we had visions of oil, nearly 5 million barrels.
Crude and dispersant galore, all the while NOAA upbeat,
Simple logic suggested our Gulf crabs were not safe to eat.
“But show us the data,” shouted Miriam like an elf,
“Were all scientists here, let me see for myself.”
Dr Bik’s conclusion was brief, and clearly did show,
We shouldn’t take chances, government standards are too low.
She showed how the Fed’s standard Levels of Concern,
Had enough generalities and assumptions to make stomachs churn.
“My work is still preliminary,” offered Dr. Bik in concession,
“But where’s our government’s precautionary approach and discretion?”
Just then, in a twinkling, in between Kevin’s hiccups,
We heard the popping and slopping of large suction cups.
As we all turned about, to face the curious sound,
Down the chimney an enormous cephalopod came with a bound.
His eyes were like dinner plates! His siphon how merry!
His sheer size was impressive, and yet wasn’t scary!
Four tentacles lifted to expose a razor-sharp beak,
Then his hectocotylus reached out and pinched Miriam on the cheek.
He was slimy, and drippy, and spineless, and squishy,
And he smelled of the sea, yet not at all fishy.
A wink of his eye and a quick inhalation,
Made us all gasp in unison as he began his oration.
“Thank you dear Deeplings, You’re a powerful alliance,
And you smell much better than those folks at Southern Fried Science.”
“Use science to show BP, NOAA, Nautilus Minerals, and others,
They can’t get away with harming the ocean, you’re watching those ‘muthas!”
We spoke not a word, we stood frozen in our shoes,
Then the creature reached out, grabbing a nearby bottle of booze.
Pouring us each a glass of rum, a most thoughtful host,
He raised his glass to ours, and offered a toast.
“What you all do is important!,” the giant cephalopod exclaims,
“Keep doing what you do! Kicking ass… taking names!
“Your crab dinner may be ruined, but don’t fret… I have relief,
Sustainable anchovies galore, and for Rick and Miriam corned beef!”
The Deepling family gathered at the table, tucking into the nosh,
A warm, tentacled holiday glow we all were awash.
And we heard him exclaim, ‘ere he oozed out of sight,
“Happy Chephalopodmas to all, and to all a good-night!”