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Leslie Ann Merrimac had bruises all around her neck
And a silver trail of latch-hooks down her back
Strings of pearls tied to each
Tethered to her husband's reach
She seldom felt a slack upon her leash
As a child he
gathered critters large and small
Built devices
for dismembering them all
It began in '91, when Leslie Ann was rather young
Her father had passed on and she moved out to Bloomington
Feeling desperate and alone
She thought she had found love
In the strong but silent, somewhat violent preacher's eldest son
He was a monster
With a ghoulish overbite
Raised a hand to her
To keep her wandering eye in line
Leslie Ann Merrimac dressed head to toe in funeral black
Never shared her loving husband's bed
Slept in corners standing upright
As he gripped the pearls tight
Pains splashed down her spine throughout the night
He would beat her
As his father had done to him
With a leather strap
Left rosy welts across her chest
Leslie Ann Merrimac woke to find her husband dead
One winter's eve he passed on in his sleep
Rigor mortis had set in
And while struggling from his grip
Bent a hook and in her spine, broke off a pin
Pearls rained down
Bounced along the hardwood floor
A frosty numb crept in
And her eyes fell closed once more
On a cemetery hill
Along a row of pines
She was buried by her loving husband's side