In the final minute of his miserable
life uncle Boris came to know philosophy,
which had never troubled him before.
In the flood tide of his aorta
terms and premises at last were clear.
He covered the five stages of the dying
All at once.
(I used to sit in Uncle Boris’s shop
twisting coathangers and listening,
listening to all the talk of revolution.)
He superseded all the world’s religions
with the last oxygen his brain would have,
looked surprised,
in the presence of acceptance.
© 2014 Conrad Geller
Conrad Geller
Uncle Boris
