The Robin
by Ben Starr
It is once again time for my annual haircut. I keep my skull stoic as an ox horn while the barber lines up my neck, my ears, my heavy woolen brow. The fact is I am so skilled at this I can rest a white throated robin on my head and amid all that mysterious buzzing she will lay the most handsome eggs. Soft like a snake’s eye. Round as expectant hips. I always let her stay until the eggs have hatched or been eaten by time, in which case I return to the tonsorium and it is the robin’s turn to keep her stout black bill free from the barber and the arc of his expensive shears.
Ben Starr studied as part of the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program and is a reader for Dishsoap Quarterly. His work has been published or is forthcoming in Bending Genres, Bruiser Mag, HAD, Gone Lawn, Rejection Letters, Scaffold and other journals. Find more of his work on X @benjaminstarr and at benstarrwrites.com
Photo by Nathon Oski on Unsplash
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