I can see why you think that I’m pre-BC…
impossible for me to think
in abstract concepts you know so well.
I don’t bathe, so bad I smell: past pheromones.
I wear no clothes and I gnaw on feral bones.

Tame me’s what you want to do,
make me part of Sapiens crew,
have me smile and not glower all day through.

Be careful or I will bite you there, behind.
If a finger you should proffer, on it I will grind
voraciously.
And for such behavior I’ll never atone
Because I’m afraid I don’t know right from wrong
(such things alien to me).

Tame me’s what you want to do,
make me part of Sapiens crew,
my nails filed, and mouth closed when food I chew.

Smell. Yow!!
Tame me’s what you want to do,
make me part of Sapiens crew.
But I’ll rile easily, then assault you.

Down it comes: the club you wield to have your way…
chain me up and hose me down, apply much Lysol spray
and then shave me,
dress me in some duds and give me 10 cc’s
of Diazepam, then proceed carefully.
You unchain me most warily, unbelt me.

Tame me’s what you want to do.
Awake I am and charge you’
it’s no smile that I wear, and not a moue
(ain’t no smile or moue!).

“Stop now!!”

Tame me’s what you tried to do,
make me part of Sapiens crew.
Not worthwhile was the effort—now you’re screwed!

You scream,
squallin’ as your mug bicuspids hew,
fallin’ is the blood flood to ensue.
Don’t eschew the chew as through I eat.
Galling are my manners…wide-mouthed chew.