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this is my favorite poem by Tim Burton.

He proposed in the dunes,
they were wed by the sea,
their nine-day-long honeymoon
was on the isle of Capri.

For their supper they had one spectacular dish-
a simmering stew of mollusks and fish.
And while he savored the broth,
her bride's heart made a wish.

That wish came true,
she gave birth to a baby.
But was this little one human?
well, maybe.

Ten fingers, ten toes,
he had plumbing and sight.
He could hear, he could feel,
but normal? not quite.

this unnatural birth, this canker, this blight,
was the start and the and and the sum of their plight.

She railed at the doctor:
"He cannot be mine!
He smells of the ocean,
of seaweed, of brine!"

"you should count yourself lucky,
for only last week,
I treated a girl
with three ears and a beak.

tat your son is half oyster,
you cannot blame me.
...have you considered, by chance,
a small home by the sea?"

Not knowing what to name him,
they just called him Sam,
Or, sometimes,
'that thing that looks like a clam'

Everyone wondered,
but no one could tell,
When would young Oyster Boy
come out of his shell?

When the Thompson quadruplets
espied him one day,
they called him a bivale,
and ran quickly away.

One spring afternoon,
Sam was left in the rain.
At the southwest corner
of Seaview and Main,

He watched the rain water
as it swirled down the drain.

His mom on the freeway,
in the breakdown lane,
was pounding the dashboard-
she couldnt contain,
the ever-rising grief,
frustration, and pain.

"really, sweetheart," she said,
"i don't mean to make fun,
but something smells fishy,
and i think its our son.

I dont like to say this,
but it must be said,
youre blaming our son
for your problems in bed."

He tried salves, he tried ointments,
that turned everything red.
He tried potions and lotions
and tincture of lead.

He ached and he itched
and he twitched and he bled.

The doctor diagnosed,
"i can't be quite sure,
but the cause of the problem
may also be the cure.

they say oysters improve your sexual powers,
perhaps eating your son
would help you do it for hours!"

He came on tiptoe,
he came on the sly,
sweat on his forehead,
his lips- a lie.

"son, are you happy?
I dont mean to pry,
but do you dream of Heaven?
Have you wanted to die?'

Sam blinked his eyes twice
but made no reply
Dad fingered his knife
and loosened his tie.

As he picked up his son,
Sam dripped on his coat.
With the shell to his lips,
Sam slipped down his throat.

They buried him quickly,
in the sand by the sea
-sighted a prayer, wept a tear-
and were back home by three.

A cross of gray driftwood
marked Oyster Boy's grave
words writ in the sand,
promised jesus would save.

but his memory was lost with one high-tide wave.

Back home safe in bed
he kissed her and said,
"Lets give it a whirl."
"but this time," she whispered

"we'll wish for a girl"