Poem: “Shoebox”

April 11: 30 days of new poems for National Poetry Month

Shoebox

Throughout the trial and for months afterwards,
the statue would get mentioned. The news, the tabloids,
even a season of American Crime Story. The statue
was seized, sold, gifted, ending up, improbably,
with Flavor Flav. It was offered back, but refused.
“They would just take it away again.” My grandpa
was the one who sculpted it. Most articles don’t name
him. He was Gene Adams Logan.

After my grandpa passed, we had to go through
his things. We found a shoebox full of pictures — studies
for a bust. Black and white headshots. Facing forward,
facing to the side. They looked like mug shots. It was
O.J. Simpson. He signed a football for me when I was a kid.
Everyone dies. Not everyone chooses how.