A Lass Called Tibby

I met a lass called Tibby,
 She bought bottles of fizzy;
 She drank them down,
 With one large frown
 And toppled over dizzy.
 
 And by noontime she may rise
 Stare through puffed and red eyes,
 Crawl out of bed,
 Look all dead
 And wobble off her thighs.
 
 And if her vision did clear,
 Her liver relieved of fear,
 She might strut out
 Without a doubt
 And buy another bottle of beer.
 
 She'll probably go back again,
 To find a better hole or den,
 To spin her mind,
 Find that divine
 And sing again again to the end, Amen. 

This little poem of limericks was created after I met a wonderful girl called Tibby. I went with my friends to Puivert, for its marché nocturne on the lake. There tables were line up in their ranks, a band played from the stand, children splashed in the lake water and odours of food cooking scented the air, moules et frites, porc, l’ail des escargots…

This Tibby was the daughter of a friend, who we call English Eve to differentiate from the other Eves. Tibby was a game girl, confident and full of calm excitement towards the fete. Brunette and pretty, I remarked to her that she looked like Natalie Dormer. We hit off straight away, both smoking and drinking in equal measure. It was good. When I told her about myself, that I was trying to be a writer and that I even dabbled in poetry, she challenged me to write a poem about her. So I did to her jolly amusement…