A Load of Bull: tauromania
His bull obsession had some kinks—
Not helped by several rounds of drinks.
He needed wisdom, a la Sphinx.
But he decided he would run
The bulls in Spain—It must be fun!
He told his dad, who said, Now, Son,
You must be careful there in Spain,
Where rain comes mainly in the plain,
Where … never mind. I can’t explain.
So off he flew—a foreign land—
Where things did not go as he planned:
They aren’t all like old Ferdinand,
That bull who loved his peacful ways,
And sniffed those flowers through his days.
No—getting gored? That hole just stays.
So he came home, brought to his knees.
And every breath—a kind of wheeze.
And through his guts? A steady breeze.