THE evening sulks along the shore, the reddening
sun
reddens still
more on the blatant bodies of these all-but-naked,
sea-bathing city
people.
Let me tell you that the sun is alive, and can be
angry,
and the sea
is alive, and can sulk,
and the air is alive, and can deny us as a woman
can.
But the blatant bathers don’t know, they know
nothing;
the
vibration of the motor-car has bruised their insensitive
bottoms
into
rubber-like deadness, Dunlop inflated unconcern.