Mystery Man

Nobody knew who he was.
His name.
Where he lived.
What he did.

He would sit in the coffee shop
Every morning
With his head in a book.

Those who acknowledged him
Were greeted by nothing more than a nod
As he adjusted his sunglasses
And puffed on a cigarette.

He was neither friendly or unfriendly.
He was just there
With a definite presence
That drew people to observe him.

How were they to know
That he was a disgraced, illustrious lecturer?
Removed from his position
For his outspoken views

In this narrow-minded world
Where freedom of speech and thought
Is bleated about
But does not exist in reality.