Orenthal James

He transcended race

when everyone else

was black or was white

he was neither and both

the Man and a Brother.

Athlete and actor,

husband and father;

handsomely faced,

handsomely paid

was worshipped

on the altar of fame,

his high fall heightened

by the Dream he personified

and his crash landing softened

by the Movement he ignored.

But did he do it?

 

If Nicole hadn’t died

she’d have said #MeToo.

For nine years

from her wedding

to her death

in the house and without

she was struck

blind and dumb

by his superior

strength

age

gender

wealth

fame.

Another man who thought

he owned another woman

and thought it was okay.

 

‘I did nothing wrong.

I did nothing.

I loved her.

Hey, where’s my glove?’

 

Ron Goldman only came by

to drop some lost glasses off.

 

Ross played Kardashian

whose children sought fame

for the sake of fame

and not their father’s name.

Ross married Rachel

who married not Louis,

but the other Theroux,

from six feet under.

They separate and you don’t hear her

saying poor me, poor Jen

or even me too.

 

Are these their options,

in bent and holy woods?

Be married and die

to your innocent man,

a knight with white steed

but the blackest of hearts.

Or be free but be pitied

as unfortunate failure,

alive but alone.

 

I think I know

who I’d rather be.

I think I know

who the happier is.

I think I know

both Jen and Nicole

would tend to agree.

As long as the juice

doesn’t flow free.

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