It’s time again to plaster the digital streets with Broadside Thirty, our showcase of poems in thirty lines or less by poets thirty or younger. This installment features Jameson Fitzpatrick.
HECTOR
at the window
throwing the keys down
in the doorway
in black athletic shorts
legs the same shape
as yours but
thicker with hair
the curls on his neck
still wet from his run
salt on my tongue
and he has been waiting for me
at the window, Hector
throwing me down
on the bed on top of me
pulling his shorts down
past the dark shock of his sex
no gray anywhere
and nothing soft about him
except how much
he looks like you
in your first author photo
twenty-five years ago
Jameson Fitzpatrick holds a BA and an MFA from New York University, where he now teaches in the Expository Writing Program. His poems have appeared in The American Reader, The Awl, The Literary Review, and Poetry, among elsewhere; he is also the author of a chapbook, Morrisroe: Erasures (89plus/LUMA Publications), which comprises 24 erasures of a single text by the artist Mark Morrisroe.