By Jameson Fitzpatrick Jameson Fitzpatrick
Yes, I was jealous when you threw the glass.

I wanted the shattering against the wood-paneled floor for myself,
to be the sudden diaspora of its pieces across the apartment — and last night

when we fought, I wanted you to hit me so badly I begged.
And the other day walking past Renewal-on-the-Bowery,

when one of the men smoking unsteadily outside
called me a faggot, I thought: Good. People get what they deserve.

Then I wished I were more like Jesus — capable of loving
all people and all things always, capable of nothing

but love. I waste half my wishes this way,

wishing to be virtuous. The rest, well,
I don’t have to tell you, do I?

Source: Poetry (June 2014).


This poem originally appeared in the June 2014 issue of Poetry magazine

June 2014
 Jameson  Fitzpatrick


Jameson Fitzpatrick is the author of the chapbook Morrisroe: Erasures (89plus/LUMA Publications). He holds a BA and an MFA from New York University.

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Poems by Jameson Fitzpatrick

Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Love, Break-ups & Vexed Love, Desire, Relationships

Poetic Terms Free Verse

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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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