Freda Was About Fry.

Freda was about to fry.
Freda sat in the electric chair.
She was about to die there.
She was the top attraction.
The witnesses gawped,

Their lust for revenge
Soon to be satisfied.
Freda shot her husband
And his lover in the head
As they lay in bed,

He about to climax
As the bullet struck,
The guy was out of luck
On both counts.
She had no remorse

Except of course
That it could have been
She in whom he spent
His last seed,
She whom he could have kissed

So tenderly, but didn’t.
The background boys watched,
Pulled the lever
Unperturbed,
An art form they say

Getting it down
To a quick kill.
All over
Once the body’s still.
Freda fried.

She died
In the chair.
She knew death
Was by her side
And in the air.