and it was political.
I made coffee and the coffee was political.
I took a shower and the water was.
I walked down the street in short shorts and a Bob Mizer tank top
and they were political,
the walking and the shorts and the beefcake silkscreen of the man
posing in a G-string. I forgot my sunglasses
and later, on the train, that was political,
when I studied every handsome man in the car.
Who I thought was handsome was political.
I went to work at the university and everything was
very obviously political, the department and the institution.
All the cigarettes I smoked between classes were political,
where I threw them when I was through.
I was blond and it was political.
So was the difference between “blond” and “blonde.”
I had long hair and it was political.
I shaved my head and it was.
That I didn’t know how to grieve when another person
was killed in America was political, and it was political
when America killed another person, who they were
and what color and gender and who I am in relation.
I couldn’t think about it for too long without
feeling a helplessness like childhood.
I was a child and it was political, being a boy
who was bad at it. I couldn’t catch and so the ball
became political. My mother read to me almost every night
and the conditions that enabled her to do so were political.
That my father’s money was new was political,
that it was proving something.
Someone called me faggot and it was political.
I called myself a faggot and it was political.
How difficult my life felt relative to how difficult
it was was political. I thought I could become a writer
and it was political that I could imagine it.
I thought I was not a political poet and still
my imagination was political.
It had been, this whole time I was asleep.
Source: Poetry (January 2017)
Jameson Fitzpatrick teaches Writing at New York University(NYU) in New York City
Posted on “Off The Rails – Track 451” on 20th January 2017