Oscar Poem by James Sides

Have you met my friend Oscar?
I’ll bet you have
He works for my Dad
Who grabbed him by everything he never had
And told him wax glad
For in some sort of Bagdad
I heard of a lad
Who lopped of our lad’s nads
And kept ‘em in bags
But there that’s just a song
About sweating and gladrags

And you may not have much
And you may not feel well
But what of the lies that your pay-slip does tell?
Your sight has grown short,
But so have your days,
So its no surprise that I reside at your wake.
How have you become sick?
I can’t even tell
Why the depths of my pockets do not quell your hell
And our future’s entwined
One gold, one green vine.
Both guilty, but only one thrives from the crime