by JR Walsh

Indeed you, with your eyebrows flapping away like an egret making bad decisions round a drainage basin.

I want to trust you. But I’ve known egrets and eyebrows and neither pay your rent. I know how that sounds. Some of my best friends are eyebrows, you’re expecting next.

Wrong! My last five lovers: un-plucked, sculptural, trichotillomaniacal, waxed, and tumbleweed. I’ve got charcoal sketches in my glovebox, smudged with tears. All them eyebrows caught Greyhounds to Alaska or Cheyenne, the Wyoming one.

You want to go see America, you can just sit there. You want to fly, I’ll molt with you.

JR Walsh was born in Syracuse, NY and lives in Boise, Idaho. He earned his MFA in Creative Writing from Boise State University, where he now teaches English as a Second Language. He is the winner of the 2009 Esquire Fiction Contest. His writing is also found in Out of Stock, Juked, Alba, The Rumpus, Alice Blue, and B O D Y.