Our Mr. Tibbs he has a great problem, she sits behind him at the boat stern. Talking you see, incessantly, Mrs. Tibbs has nothing to learn. Their vows have lasted a lifetime, in hell it’s lasted since born, and what it would be, he thinks decadently to lose her life in a storm. They paddle on without fighting, a rare uncommon reprieve. In largesse frames, both gluttons, for pain, a tie that Satan can’t free. They row to fish for a mullet, he thinks he has him a plan, so far from the shore, he’ll tip with the oar, and send his wife into a jam.
Mrs. Tibbs is not fond of swimming, in fact she never has swam. The bathtub you see is as closest to be, of her aquarium exam. She’s a woman high with her feelings, a madam who speaks of her mind, what seed she does sow, comes back always owed, her favors will always be damned. The lady is light with her tributes, a woman heavy with hand, better to be, feared in creed, a demon, much better than mam’m. Mrs. Tibbs believes nothing of virtue especially that of her man, she’s watching him now, his head at the bow, she knows there’s something a plan.
Mr. Tibbs his brow is on fire, a sweat that boils from a gland, he’s nervous you see, because it might be, his missus has guessed at his plan. He rows with a roar toward the cattails, he needs a drowning near sand. Whatever will be, he stoutly believes his time of freedom at hand. Mrs. Tibbs she questions his direction, even more she points at the land, “you dummy you see there’s no fish to be, in those weeds the breadth of your hand.”
The boat it enters the rushes, the sky hangs low over land, time it has come, to loosen the sum of what hell has christened in man. Mr. Tibbs he shakes with a sorrow, he brings his oar ready to be, and then such a light the boat comes still too tight, run ashore quiet even with land. Mrs. Tibbs she laughs in a chortle, hells couple has rumbled again, what happened will be until destiny weaves to try trouble tomorrow once again.
A moon it lights on the landing, the world moves after all. The Tibbs they do sit, the boat at the slip, their love without reason at all. Tomorrow comes with a new day, a chance to define an end, it is after all a probable call of weather and storm and a wind.
Our Mr. Tibbs he has a great problem, she sits behind him at the boat stern. – 08.10.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל