Unseasoned Shoes

What was he thinking when he dropped by shoelaces his unseasoned shoes? Did they splash or plip-plop land on lake? Did they sink like a pirate’s treasure or was this considered treasonous, by land folk? Oh, definitely would be, if they’d known - instead they scour two floors, looking for cute to put on two feet, to go to church. What was he thinking when he dropped by shoelaces his unseasoned shoes? Did they drift off together or swim apart, their soles wet; perhaps spotted by a child who says, “Look!” as if they were two ships passing in the night. Were the laces, like oars. Those laces of no use, unless someone tugged them out of their abandonment, sunned them, brushed and released their tongues, slipped them on to feet and found they fit just right. But the other mom, who paid cash, is still scratching her head, looking high and low, never thinking to question her son, though she has him looking, but he’s playing instead, knowing the looking is a dead end. Perhaps, he feels ashamed for her good money and his betrayal and looks for them where he left them, where the wind touches his cheek and tussles his hair, just like mom; where the waters kiss the shore like mom kisses his boo-boo knees. He thinks his shoes went under and won’t reveal the secret for many years. He will tell his family, it is the same lake of fate, where he threw the little people of Fisher-Price. The boy abandoned unimportant things of life; thankfully he came through in so many other ways, so he’s forgiven.