Misinterpreters

They did not reck my rod, and so
I wrecked their read, they'd read into
so recklessly. Their faces grew
about as red as probably
they saw. That moment,
all came round. And each
accused of rude, and all
protesting most objectionably.

I reckon they
most surely knew. But if

they didn't, now they know.
I never rowed a better boat
as I that day took oar
and steered right down
their throat, and
disappeared.

The red skies grew
to towering, sparkling black
and still, no sign

of anything afloat

despite my peers
of equal weight
and buoyancy
into the darkness
all around - and ears

strained silence quietly.

Ah, well! Let's call
a crew to drag
the moat.