I Dreamed of Harvey Weinstein
by Aunt Shecky
All Rights Reserved
I dreamed of Harvey Weinstein on Emmy Eve.
He came bang-bang-banging on my front door,
with my script in one hand,
an outsized check in the other.
He looked just like his color photo
on Wikipedia, until he suddenly grew
a beard and a pair of black-rimmed cheaters
which made him a dead-ringer for Allen G.
Cut to the Red Carpet, outside the venue
for the Oscars, Tonys – whatever- where
I was doing a graceful glissade
in my beat-up, blessedly holy sneakers,
while wearing the ghosts
of Preston Sturges, Roz Russell,
Eddie Bracken – all of ‘em
on my bony back.
I name-checked even more
when called to the stage,
as I wanna, wanna, wanna
thank them all,
while clutching that glittering statuette
with the slender fingers
of my artistic hands,
at the same time secretly wondering
if my triumph had anything to do
with the eggplant parm
and the wilted salad topped
with imitation “bacon” bits
that I ate last night.