Novelist Nathaniel Robert Winters shares a poem today. Find his work at Amazon.

Custer Died For Our Sins

Western train throws a loud whistle

but bison won't be moved

car screeches to a whiplash halt

Buffalo hunters emerge

bringing down great beasts

too many to count

a hole appears

showing the endless tracks beyond

Locomotive belches black cloud

starts slowly, picking up speed

white way west

Lakota Nation weeps

One hundred fifty years later

it is not tracks that scar Dakota land

but a pipeline

oil way south

Lakota Nation still weeps