Bison And Quail Poem by Donal Mahoney

I never think about bison.
After all, I live in St. Louis,
why should I?

But when I went hunting
for quail in Montana
I tripped and

broke my leg, flopped
on the tundra all night.
Come morning

I saw bison romping
toward me, hundreds of them
coming in thunder.

I heard them snorting.
Honestly, I'm not lying.
I thought about bison then.

I never think about ISIS, either.
I live in St. Louis, after all,
why should I?