William Wall starts with a description of a hermit crab: a knight in armour from the waist up, and soft and unprotected below. The crab hides in a borrowed shell, and if it is caught out in the open, its shame is deadly. The speaker then turns this image on the people he sees around him.
A heavy priest slips into a car with surprising grace, like a geisha kneeling to pour tea. A local politician shakes hands with a practised shrug, his face closed and smiling, offering his hand "like viaticum," the sacrament given to the dying. Both seem to be wearing shells. The speaker watches them with a dry, slightly wary curiosity.
The final figure is different. The young woman resting her hand on a boy's sleeve has an open face, "a sea of gifts," and meets the world "without armour." The mood shifts from wry suspicion to quiet admiration, as the poem sets concealment against openness.