Squat, unshaven, full of gas,
Joseph Samuels, former clerkin four large cities, out of work,waits in the darkened underpass.
In sanctuary, out of reach,he stares at the fading light outside:the rain beginning: hears the tidethat drums along the empty beach.
When drops first fell at six o'clock,the bathers left.
The last car's gone.
Sun's final rays reflect uponthe streaking rain, the rambling dock.
He takes an object from his coatand holds it tightly in his hand(eyes on the stretch of endless sand).
And then, in darkness, cuts his throat.
