Thousands thronged the city
eyeing Rainey’s neck,
looped by rope
and not much hope,
standing on that deck.
Nabbed for killing Lischia,
aged three-score and 10.
Choked her first,
(unrehearsed)
then went to the pen.
“Hurry,” howled the huddled horde.
“Why not hang ’im now?”
Sheriff Thompson
held her gun,
“He’ll die soon,” she vowed.
Cameras lined the gallows,
reporters on their toes.
Happened quick,
then they “Clicked,”
ending Thompson’s show.
Those who saw the hangin’
never will forget
how he fell
straight to Hell,
in 19–36.
Thousands thronged the city.
(All saw Rainey die.)
Now they’re gone,
life’s moved on.
No one said, “Good-bye.”
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