The Wild Man Blues Poem by Bruce Morse

Beneath this civil surface
There’s someone you can’t see
He’s the howling, growling monster,
The wild man in me.

It might be kind of funny
If it wasn’t so damn sad,
He only likes his pleasure
If it’s nasty and it’s bad.

He can be nice and friendly
And then he goes berserk,
Laughing like a lunatic,
Behaving like a jerk.

He needs to have his way
And wants it here and now
And if it doesn’t happen,
He’ll make an awful row.

He’ll claw and curse and chew on things,
He doesn’t give a damn.
He’ll have his way with you,
Without a “Thank you ma'am.”

I’ve tried to make friends with him,
He’s not to be subdued.
Just when things are going well
He’s obnoxious and he’s rude.

He makes a mess, then gets undressed
And pounds his hairy chest.
His eyeballs turn black and red
And roll back in his head.

He smirks and jerks and wiggles,
He drools and blows his nose
And then he smears the drippings
In between his toes.

He thinks he’s casanova
With the ladies, sweet and fair,
But when they see him coming
They vanish in thin air.

They know the man’s a monster
Who never gets enough.
He’s greedy and he’s selfish,
He’s rowdy and he’s rough.

He’s needy and he’s volatile,
He’s moody and immature.
He rarely has a single thought
That’s not impulsive and impure.

I have such great ambivalence
About this scary guy,
And yet I know, if truth be told,
Without him I would die.

I’d fall into a pattern,
Get stuck in a routine,
Wake up and go to sleep,
With nothing in between.

I’d be listless and lifeless,
A frozen block of ice,
A product of society,
So boring and so nice.