The Philosopher (3)

by John Yau

He believed his eyes shone with the pure fire of a great purpose
He always waited until his scorn expired before attempting to
speak
He introduced the coaxing inflections of a child into his weekly
lecture
He was mistrustful of what any sign of zeal might to do to his
argument
He pretended he needed to shamble away in order to encourage
further sympathy
He advertised his passions with sneers and pretended to hide
behind an exultant smile
He enjoyed what enticements came his way with astonishing
unscrupulousness
He airily lampooned his colleagues’ most cherished
accomplishments
He needed to makes sure he did not release unguarded adjectives
into the air
He was the author of books no longer pertinent to the discussion