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The judge's wife, she died no normal
death but slowly
withered to the bone
from lack of love and appetite (would
never eat a
lick). She wanted to stay
slim. The townsfolk, they agreed she'd
been
wronged since birth — silverspoon,
that come-out ball in
one-horse-ville,
her leading cheers of sports from county
all around, the
prep school life, now
this. A fall from grace she must've had
to marry
that old coot (though some
believe she married him for wealth
when
pleasure's what he sought with a young
wife — and got, the
rumor mills repeat
each night and day, at Jake's from local
gals and
prosty-toots who loved him for
his charm and wit). Y'know, she
weren't
but close to third his years and less.
The judge's wife is dead. 'Tis said,
she took the
treasure 'tween thighs but
twice to bed; he slew her with his lance
of
love — well first time he had missed
his mark; a second pierced her
through
the soul (he said, she wasn't any good;
in fact, he told her so);
she couldn't live
like that. Pretending all the out-
ward day she was the
Lady Queen; but,
then at night, the little slut who met the
every need of
that old coot. So what
she wasn't any good, she thought:
"The perfect
needn't practice;
The imperfect practice won't perfect"
her daddy told
her once upon his knee
then kissed her once; she blushed; then
he kissed
her once again with greed.
That once and long ago is all she need
be told
and all she needed of experience.
She had believed. But, now; well now,
she took to roaming
village streets
to learn just what she'd missed in life.
(Never bothered
the old judge a twit;
by day, she used her maiden name. But
was heard at
Jake's the judge proclaim —
it's said — to be a virgin so damned
long
is quite the lowest, meanest crime.
I picked her up at Harley's Grill
and Truckstop in
Divine
(a Tuesday's what I think it were);
she seemed to me a pretty
girl,
and that is why I loved her, kept her,
killed her — I had to
make her mine.
