Uncle Finis lugged a rifle
nearly as tall as he was when we hunted
All things are possible if you believe, he said
Even running at the speed of light, I said
Even that.
But I didn't believe him, and perhaps that's why
I've never run at the speed of light
His humps through the jungle were fifteen years
gone when we stalked through the woods after bear
but Finis had never lost his lust for the hunt
the quarry all breathed, bled, and shat
walked on two legs or four, at least
till it walked on none
till the marksman's bullet cut its dying whine
as it fled the great tall gun
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