RideshareBy Ben Robinson
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Usually I do this drive alone
but today a housefly snuck inside my car and now the two of us are travelling 124 km/h listening to the voice of Carol Off. The fly sits on my head and then my leg. The fly flies down and rests its feet on the brake and I flinch, then laugh. Good one, fly. I steer the car into the carpool lane to show the fly I consider him or her a real passenger. He or she flies up onto the dashboard and gazes out at the other cars— each one just like the next. Then I see red and blue flashing lights and realize I’ve been paying too much attention to the fly and not enough attention to the road. I roll the window down to speak to the officer but before he can finish saying, “Son, don’t you know this lane is for …” the fly darts down the officer’s throat and he chokes and falls down dead. One ThousandBy Ben Robinson
At this point, you should probably know
it’s more correct to call the place I live a condominium, not an apartment. That’s what it actually is, a con-do-min-i-um but I don’t really like discussing condominiums because my neighbour says it makes you sound like a snob. Last week a man with paint on his boots was walking by my condominium. I was sitting out on my balcony one floor above him. Without breaking his stride he yelled up “Yo bro! How much you pay for rent?” and there wasn’t time to explain that most people here do not pay rent because these are con-do-min-i-ums and not a-part-ments, but that I rent mine because the woman who owns the unit I live in happens to be my mother which means that she is also my landlord so my rent is payable to her. Instead of trying to explain all of this to the man I just yelled back the number one thousand and he kept walking north and repeating the number to himself with each step one thousand one thousand one thousand one thousand ConcentrateBy Ben Robinson
Take your diary out behind the garage
and blast it with the garden hose See the letters lift from the page form tiny black pools Drop a stone inside each one and note the ripple of OOOOOOs the wave of MMMMMMs (or are they WWWWWs?) Collect a sample with your eye dropper and save it for later Some Sunday when your mother stops by take it down from the shelf, slip a spoonful into her tea Watch as she tries to play it cool calmly asks if you happen to have any sweetener Ben Robinson’s recent poems include the tale of a young boy who has fallen in love with Princess Diana, as well as a guide to starting the conversation about vegetarianism with your dog. Last October, Bird, Buried Press published his first chapbook: Mayami. In 2018 he was named the Emerging Artist in the Writing category by the Hamilton Arts Awards. The Walrus called his work “barely eligible.” He has only ever lived in Hamilton, ON.
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