A most punctual man

Polished, expressions 

and persona rehearsed,

bluffed exterior, buffed

shiny like glass,

but at core, a darker matter,

his soul made of plastic - flexible,

morality clouded 

with drugs and booze

leading to a propensity

to speak in anagrams

and cryptic crossword clues.

Eel smarm, slippery and snake

charm leaving wake of bleak

incomprehension, under 

hammer fist of intolerance

for any dissension, hidden 

hands were smelted steel.

Indestructible seeming

insurmountable that it came as

a surprise that when he left the house

at a quarter past seven

with Greenwich Mean Time precision;

wind westerly, sky overcast,

whisper of drizzle,

that he walked out into the road

and bang, that’s what they said,

a decent man, affable, 

a most punctual man,

but now he’s dead.

Image from pixabay