The Brains Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The Brains

My uncle was 'normal' in, the sense) he wore not
a mask of convention, which scared people
who wore the strait-Jacket of the conventional.
In a civilized society, honesty cannot be tolerated
and the unfortunate truth tell is attacked
From religious, moral and political quarters.
my uncle, Carl, was sent to a mental institution
in Denmark, where the good doctors were trying
to make the "normal" fit the norm.
Months later, a telegram Carl had died in an accident
communication was cumbersome back then
but there was a number 601, which we understood
the number of his grave.
In later years I travelled to Denmark to visit Carl's
grave. I found the grave at a cemetery called
by the locals, "the graveyard of the brainless'
It appears when a patient died, the brain was removed
and put in a white plastic bucket for further study
The intuition was forthcoming and allowed me to see
to the basement where the bucket was stored.
Hundreds of buckets were stored on shelves like books
never read; and the was a bucket 601, my uncle.
They said I could take the bucket home, but I declined
his brain would be better off with the other brains
Who knows? Maybe they spoke to each other
over the long night.