By David Henson
We don’t realize it at first, can’t understand what compels us to walk in that bent, skating manner and waggle an invisible cigar. Only after we give in to the urge to buy a mask with bushy eyebrows and mustache and stand before a mirror do we realize what’s happening. We don’t try to understand why because we’re too busy laughing.
We stand in long lines to see Horse Feathers, fire off one-liners about elephants in pajamas, sing about Lydia, the tattooed lady. When our children say they don’t understand what’s so funny, we reply That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever hoid and roar ‘til our sides hurt.
As time passes we begin to feel there must be more. We think perhaps the secret word is the key to what we’re missing. Looking upward, we jabber ‘til we’re hoarse. But the toy duck never descends.
Coming to realize the joke’s on us, we stamp out our cigars, pull off our masks, and begin walking like ourselves again.
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David Henson and his wife have lived in Brussels and Hong Kong and now reside in Illinois. His work has been selected for Best Microfictions 2025 and nominated for four Pushcart Prizes. His writings have appeared in various journals including Literally Stories, Ghost Parachute, Bright Flash Literary Journal, Moonpark Review, and Maudlin House. His website is http://writings217.wordpress.com. His X handle is @annalou8.