Philippine Doppelganger

 Philippine Doppelganger

by Mushroom Montoya

“Wow! You were great on the guitar

Last night in the Mania Bar.”

I stared at my shipmate

Wondering what mischief

 

Wondering what trick

He was attempting to play.

I didn’t have a guitar

And I was never in a bar

Last night.

 

I pulled back my blanket,

Climbed down from my rack,

And stared at his goofy smile,

Still wondering all the while,

What he was up to.

 

“I saw you playing the guitar

With that Filipino band

In the Manila Bar

On main street.”

 

I told him I’d had duty.

I never left our ship.

I suggested we go tonight.

I knew it would foil his trick.

 

We strolled into the Manila Bar

Two pretty, young ladies

Took our hands

And lead us to a table.

 

“You buy me drink?’

The mini-skirted, bright red lipped

Lady of the evening

Requested with a smile.

 

“I will if you drink

One of the two I buy for myself.

She nodded and giggled

And left to bring my beer.

 

I knew her glass

Would be as beerless

As she was braless

In her tiny revealing miniskirt.

 

The band came on stage

My shipmate stood and pointed

“How can that be

You are there and

You are here by me?”

 

My beard was thicker

His hair was longer

Our size and weight

Were about the same.

 

When the band took its break

The band member stared

And pointed at me

And stared at him.

 

The whole band came to our table

Staring and pointing

Their mouths declaring,

Wow’s and awes.

 

We sat across from each other

Or could we say ourselves

Staring into a mirror

That moved on its own.

 

He didn’t speak English.

I didn’t speak Tagalog.

So we just stared at each other

And smiled.

 

I gave him my glasses,

The band roared with laughter,

My shipmate looked stunned,

The ladies giggled

And sipped their fake alcoholic drinks.

 

They offered to let me play

On my doppelganger’s guitar.

I wish at hadn’t declined,

For then my shipmate

Would have seen the future.

Click here to listen

Ice Cream in Chicago

 

Ice Cream in Chicago

By Mushroom Montoya

 

Anticipation jumps up and down

The tunnels in my stomach,

Hanging on bungee cords

From my overly taut shoulders,

 

Fighting with them

To calm down

A notch

Or two.

 

The bones in my butt cheeks

Press like cinder blocks

Against the cold gray metal chair.

Where I sit with hope jiggling in my gut.

 

A tall skinny airman,

Clipboard in hand,

Calls out the names

Of sailors, soldiers, and airmen.

 

One by one they stand

And float out of the waiting room

Wearing happy traveler smiles

On their way out the departure door.

 

Only one seat is left

I could get bumped off the flight

If any sailor, soldier, or airman

Shows up

With official travel orders.

 

The clock’s tic toccing on the wall

Is teasing me with the question:

Is anyone with travel orders

About to walk through the door

And bump you?

 

I sit all alone in the waiting room

Accompanied only by empty chairs,

Like mouths of baby birds

Waiting to be fed.

 

The giant metal bird rumbles

Outside, in the cold

Pulling on its leash

Eager to fly away to Chicago

 

Thirty tic toc seconds left

I stare at the entry door

Praying no sailor, soldier, or airman

Runs in at the last second,

With travel orders.

 

My name is finally called.

I heave a sigh

And stand up and run

To the big metal bird.

 

The doors clank closed.

My seatbelt clicks snug.

The giant metal bird

Loudly vibrates its flight.

 

After sitting backward

For nearly two hours

In the cavernous belly

Of a military cargo jet

 

The doors open

And pour me and the others out

Onto the tarmac

On an early March afternoon.

 

George Roby,

My sailor buddy,

Arrives with his smile

Filling the interior of his car.

 

He takes me to his parent’s house,

And leads me down to the basement

He asks, “What kind of ice cream

Would you like for your birthday?”

 

“I am not picky

I’ll take whatever you have?”

His laughter is so contagious

I am laughing at I don’t know what.

 

He opens the door

Exposing a standup freezer

Filled to the top

With half gallon boxes of ice cream.

  

My eyes pop wide open,

Followed by my mouth.

He asks me once again,

“What flavor would you like?”

 

I scan the huge variety

And point asking if THAT one is open

He removes an unopened half gallon

Of Rocky Road ice cream.

 

He opens the box.

Plunks a big metal spoon

Into the middle of the Rocky Road ice cream

“You have a week to finish it,”

 

He laughs and grabs his own

Half gallon box of ice cream

And directs me to sit down

On one of two oversized stools.

 

We dig in our spoons,

Like little boys,

Laughing and eating

All the ice cream we want.

Audio Clip

 

Covid Shackles My Ankles

I don't like Covid’s confinement.

It reminds me of being aboard,

Although never bored,

On the USS Trippe

Before we actually started

To sail our circumnavigation,

Completely around the world

With our first port,

Being Roosevlt Roads,

In beautiful Puerto Rico,

With its super clear water,

And people who spoke

Espanol much faster

Than my family did back home.

Covid’s confinement 

Shackles my ankles,

Or more correctly, 

My car’s black tires,

All the while, leaving 

Fattening snacks

Within too easy reach

Of my two too willing hands.

Thank goodness for my neighbor

Who helps keep me trim,

By letting me swim

In his kidney-shaped

Sky reflecting swimming pool,

Over which the Canadian Geese

Fly in their V formation

Laughing a lively conversation

On their trip to the park,

While I swim back and forth,

Expressing my gratitude

To the Water Spirits,

To whales, dolphins, clams, and eels.

After which I come home,

With my opened heart and cleared mind,

To sit at my desk,

To dance my fingers across the keyboard,

And begin to gather muses and thoughts

Stirring the pots on the stove of my mind,

Cooking complaints and whipping up solutions,

Boiling dreams and scenes of beauty

Into my poems.