Wild Man of Borneo:

I have an obscure fantasy:
Waltzing bare with a bone through my nose
along the shores of the Banda Sea
as a feral freak free of woes.

I would not join a carnival
and do a drooling dance in a cage.
In the back country I’d rather loll,
than gnaw live poultry in a rage.

I’d reject the world that we know
as a hermit by any standard.
Call me the Wild Man of Borneo!
I’d be the ultimate dastard.

Not one of those poncy pirates
serves such terror to those they might host.
Forget about escaping inmates.
The untamed scare the public most.

Free as a rich aristocrat,
like Howard Hughes with a wild ass stare.
I’d throw dust and sticks and kick your cat
and tight wedgie your underwear.

Bandits can be most alarming.
They’ll rob you and shoot off a big gun.
But wild men seem so much less charming.
They’re dudes who just want you to run.

What glee I would feel unfettered
without saddle or hobble or bit.
Caked with mud and prancing all feathered,
under Borneo’s moon I’d flit.

But the traffic light is changing.
My wife pokes my arm and shouts: “It’s green!”
Reality is rearranging
and brings me back here on the scene.

Daydreams will follow as we go
through our lives that can feel quite inane.
Maybe that Wild Man of Borneo
keeps my brain this side of insane.

Oogah! Boogah!
.