MOB

 

To see the yelping pack upon the fox,

The foaming deer or bloodied ox,

Hanging from the rump, the chin and ear

And having felled dismember

Without care or fear,

Fluid fiend afore and to the rear,

Tearing apart the hapless victim,

Limb from living limb;

 

Is to see the spirit of a mob

Pursue its quarry

Blood-shot with delirium,

And feel the indiscriminate animal stir within,

To merge with the primitive collective will

And join as one for the frenzied kill,

The mind benumbed of any compassion,

The sum a myriad hidden passions,

Invisible in the friendly dog

Before he joins the beastly mob.