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They Call Him Oscar: An Elegy

A strange ritual:

Awards with a gold man

As if men were gold

Or worthy of it

But I digress.

They call him Oscar

God bod, tuxedo ego

Ninety-two years young

King of the Gala

Old white guy taste.

You’d never find him

Shopping the Diamond District

Unlike KG he

Prefers his gems cut

Parlay busted.

If Oscar’s Nai Nai

Was diagnosed with cancer

He might call to say

Sorry to hear that

A sad farewell.

A proud Eagle Scout

Would never ride the subway

He’s perfectly nice

Dazed and gullible

With won to spare.

Oscar likes strip clubs

Women dancing just for him

A character arc?

Does not belong there

It’s tradition.

Women-led stories

He finds dreadfully banal

He wants more intrigue

Than switching timelines

Mobs, mayhem, Mendes.

Here’s what the game is

Courtesy of Benoit Blanc:

Oscar is drowning

In self-importance

A donut hole.

Prone to what blinds him

Unconscious prejudices

Ingrained bias toward others

Powered by voters

Unvarnished gold.


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