Soaked in a long brown coat
Curved over the corner
Between the outer rail
And the tunnel wall, 

It was never established
Whether he tried to kill himself 
Cushioned by the reletness rain
Stalled in motionless confusion

Spaced up and down the tunnel
Picking money like nettles 
Wrapped in ripped hankies
Bordering the shadows

Or had it been something else 
With months and months of
Hard earned money to be
Deposited in the city centre

Shelved under the wheels
With the remains
Of what had been his wife
Unclear whether they had fell
In a terrible argument

Or had been pushed.