On The Bar

In sitting down at the wooden dining room table,
with full intentions of open mindedness, the natural
motion of his head glanced over the island bar that
separated the kitchen, noticing, questionably, a pair
of small wooden shoes. At first thinking it a delay
in focus, from his seat, he voluntarily, once more,
looked over the scene, and he was mistaken, there
was not a pair of shoes, but one doll sized leather
boot. Curious to its origin, and the whereabouts
of its partner, the boot kept his attention for only
a moment as, suddenly, he noticed protruding from
it, in the usual fashion, was a stick that continued
upward and Y’d to branches that extended nearly
two feet. That was it. There it was. A branching,
booted stick standing between the bananas and the
cook books. These people are insane, he said out loud
to himself, and got to work.

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