You can be sure
Gather ’round me laddies for a tale strange but true
In ’72 down North Carolina way
A man some called “jovial,” others “likable and nice,”
Stuffed his sweet wife, Julie, away
Each month came the checks, but Mr. Cline lived not there
Up north to Canada he did go
But the body of his betrothed, fair Julie, did lie
In a freezer, asleep in the snow
When daughter did ask: “Oh, dad, how’s dear mom?”
“Not well. In a nut house,” he’d reply
Julie’s friends, they confessed, new little or naught
Of Mrs. Cline’s condition: cold, stoic and wry
Arthur Cline, some did say, managed a plant
To make money to pay for the rent
Of his darling beloved’s icy retreat
But one month no lucre was sent
Mr. Landlord he knocked; no answer did come
Key turned, he entered and said:
“Look, tables and books and lamps and rugs
But no Julie with hair of deep red”
In the kitchen there sat white, enameled and clean
A late-model compact Westinghouse
The lid he did open, with a cry he exclaimed:
“Sweet Julie! There's frost on you blouse!”
Downtown he did run to the Sheriff’s and said:
“Mrs. Cline, she’s as stiff as a board!”
“Don't worry Mr. L. We’ll be right over there”
Far above the vultures they soared
Mr. Cline, it is said, came down just last week
To visit young daughter, Mrs. Boyd
At the Dulles that day federal agents waited for him
Mr. Sheriff: tired, restless, annoyed
“Mr. Cline, if you will, please step over here
We’ve some questions we’d like to expound
Seems your dear red-haired wife’s as blue as the moon
And found nestled amongst the ground round”
Mr. Cline did not blink, nor stammer or faint
But with cool poise stood firm, did not run
Said: “Sheriff, my boy, I’m an old, tired man
Just lookin’ to have me some fun”
The Sheriff he stopped, scratched his chin and then thought:
“Perhaps this old codger’ not bad”
Young daughter, Mrs. Boyd, with luggage in hand, said:
“Daddy, you mean mommy’s not mad?”
“Oh, no. Quite contraire. She’s as sane as can be
Her mind’s as sharp as a knife
But ne’er again will she walk on the moor
She’s chosen a more sedentary life”
The Sheriff, the daughter and Mr. Cline, too
Drank coffee and told dirty jokes
As nighttime approached the party broke up
Said Sheriff: “You’re really swell folks”
Mrs. Cline, it is said, at the Coroner’s office
Lay smartly on the dissecting table
“Two days ’fore she thaws,” said examiner Bill
To her feet he attached a small label
The father and daughter went dancing that night;
The Sheriff was sad, full of strife
He was married unhappily to a scolding old wench
Mrs. Sheriff, his corpulent wife
And into his car to Sear’s they did go
“New appliances”" he thought, “should please the old louse”
Mr. Sheriff he smiled while his wife bitched and said:
“We’ll take this new frost-free Westinghouse”
In ’78, I’m told, Mrs. Sheriff, “Ol’ Lil,
In curlers and bathrobe of red
Lies sleeping quite sound, no bitching or such
Mr. Sheriff content and well-fed.
October 27, 1978