Wild Things

By the side of the road

Or down in a drain

A cranny, a nook, a pavement crack

Up against a mildewed wall

Or poised against a cornice

Between flower beds

Or paved graves

And that one behind the door hinge

A chink in the roof

Old dusty rooms

A little earth and some damp

The worst possible places

That’s where the wild things grow

Straight from the muck and into our hearts.