Appeared in the Press-Citizen September 17, 2007
I can see him, even now, flying
with the greatest of ease and the grace of the finer arts
over the airport counters and baggage carts,
and I hear, down through the years, the Hertz lady crying
“Go, O.J. Go!” And then a decade later
with the Juice still running—this time in a white S.U.V.
and brought to the nation live on network tv—
we shouted “Go, O.J. Go,” for no one was greater
at legging it into the spotlight, leaping the charges
like a few lousy bags, and landing on his feet.
Now he’s in Vegas, as at home on the strip as at a meet-n-greet.
Questioned and searched yet again, his legend enlarges.
“Go, O.J. Go!” we think as we hear the Law swear:
“We don’t believe he’s going anywhere.”