This Feral Team

Animals giving themselves absolution,
An absolute license to be however
They please, however different, however

Obnoxiously repetitive—the same,
The change, however indulgent
Of the instantaneous hungers

That gnawed them into being, beings
That fed and feed them, the many and few.
This feral team. Nothing that’s wild or tame,

But everything that’s something between,
A vicious sweetness, a grimy tongue
Wagging from a pack of wandering mouths.

You want nature? Careful, lion tamer.
Nature is not humanly noble, hierarchical
Fantasy term, but avid, fecund, overrun

With themselves overrunning themselves.
You had a better idea of nature when
You half feared the feral fey you invented.

These are social animals released
Into themselves, to what they were of what
You wanted, and just too, too damn many

Running around in the hills, whole herds
Of these things, mustangs, burros, dogs,
Warthogs, rats, and pythons. Especially 

Pythons. Lines, lines, lines on branches,
In your backyard swimming pools, sliding
Through the scrub brush and long grass.