The Love Song of Hyman Lubinsky

by Mary Elizabeth Naugle

First published in May/June, 2007, Volume 4, Issue 2, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.

Oh, Bridget, be my bride, come be my Bridey!

In an ivy covered shanty nice and tidy,

Both my heart and arms would open widey 

For my Bridey.

And when you had a half day, you could sit down on my side.

I have a team—no cart—my seat is wide

Enough for two, though of course it wouldn’t do

Until my ring was on your finger, and, oh boy, my hand would linger

Over yours the day I put it there, my Bridey.

Aw, I’m green, I know, but I’d grow ripe

In no time, keep you safe, and smoke a pipe—

No plug tobacco spitting would you see.

You’ve heard the vendors halloaing down the street?

Aw, you’d never hear such kind of noise from me.

Instead, we’d look for ice cream hungry faces

At the windows, pull up on the traces,

And wait the way a decent peddler do—

All, dear, because of you.  

And when noonday spreads through the sky

Like ice that melts just as the sun gets high,

I’d take you down my streets—first June and Rock.

You’d hand the scoop down when I tipped the crock.

And then down Prospect, Linden, High, and Grove.

We could picnic with the swells down at the Cove.

But I wouldn’t for a penny take no notice of the many 

If I could have my posy by my side,

My blushing bride.

But in the rooms detectives come and go,

Muttering, “One up besides the one below.”

I go slow, I go slow.

I will never get any of my ice cream sold.

Now, I am no star witness, no, and never meant to be.

I only come to tell what I could do

To make out that the lady told it true.

I waited outside in the vestibule,

Then testified and got made out a fool.

Life is so cruel!

I turn red, I turn red.

The fellers all be calling me the Turnip Head.

But, gee, if  I’da  dared to, I’da said

The whole truth that was buzzing through my head.

How one day about eleven, I caught a glimpse of heaven,

And I swore I must see more of her or die.

I sold the cream to her and she gave to me a smile,

Paid,  tossed in two more bits and laughed,

Said “Don’t worry, not my money, 

And besides, you are a honey.”

Her black eyes flashed and then she dashed back to the house.

And left me feeling manly as a mouse.

But I have trotted slow there ever since at the same time,

To offer cream that wouldn’t cost a dime

Until the day some villain done the crime.

And they think it would be hard for me to recognize that yard?

That yard I’ve passed just for the chance to find

Wet sheets kissing her cheeks as she hangs them to the line?

Or (dare I say?) 

Have her ask a ride from me on her half  holiday.

And then I might have popped the question

At a busy intersection.

But I do not think she’ll hear it now from me. 

But because I did not dare to say, 

“I think you are a peach,”

I’ll never wear a boater and walk her down the beach.

I have measured out my life in ice cream scoops

Served up for those who wait on their back stoops.

I have seen the shop boy hold the door and smirk

To see me go so late about my work.

I could not say in court what I don’t dare 

To say to her except in dreams that float 

Out on the deep, on some swell riverboat,

Far from the gavel and the fear

That keep my song from reaching her sweet ear.