Javelina, javelina, men can’t tame you—
you’re unlike Tramp’s Lady: sweet, domestic style.
You are loathsome, so we go gunning to game you—
so it’s javelina hunting. . .a “pig pile.”

You’re so wild—that’s why we hunt you, javelina.
But near we sashay, you ghostily depart.
You outscheme pursuers by one more schlep,
so they cry there; you don’t lie there
dead. A war whoop you squeal, javelina.
You are a porcine, grotesque, ugly scourge upstart.

You’re so wild—that’s why we hunt you, javelina.
But then on some days, you slyly go and start
to tag-team dog-walkers in a gore prep
and apply there tusks that pry, pare.
It’s a war cry you’ll squeal, javelina,
then run toward home; they groan, flummoxed. . .watch you depart.

Javelina, I’ll be see’n’ ya.