Old Simon

old simon he hides beneath the brim of an old straw hat with many years of service pressing down to shade eyes of unknown hue so long have they been in exile from the sun. a service smile sat uncomfortably on his lips as if not used to such a fortnight position unpracticed, almost forgotten. not stretched to the corners of his eyes, left dangling like a once had friend. his voice was rationed into short useful phrases beneath the words ran, “ get this over with.” “Get me out of the glare”. attention seeped over the hermit like treacle. threatening to suffocate his very existence. a man ever alone lost to human discourse niceties, polite societies filled with mendacity. alarms clangored in his mind but to late, he was surrounded by the curious and rude; their children poking, touching his gear. everything screamed run and he did.