By Mushroom Montoya
Laughter explodes into a disarray
of flower petals,
She arranges into a plethora of piles,
Each proclaiming their own logical placement
On the shelf,
floor,
tabletop,
or adjacent to the door.
Her presence is ever-present,
Persevering in her pursuits
of the pleasure
Of priming the pump
from the wellspring
of growing things
from seemingly
nothing.
She mushrooms a hullaballoo of laughter,
Mixing requirements of exactitude,
With a gregarious attitude
That trips over its own feet.
And that is where we meet
And giggle,
jiggling
and wiggling
our bellies.
Unlike my former Navy chief,
Whose need to be the very best,
Distressed
the crew
to rebellion.
Denise’s drive to be her best
Includes a healthy bowl of jest,
Spiked with a barrel of intoxicating laughter
That is perpetually chasing after her.
All the emotions burst
into the room
Banging drums
with the loudest boom,
Sweeping away misery
with her witch’s broom,
Which is covered with flowers
always in bloom.
She takes command of the forces she’s gathered:
Her family,
friends,
employees,
or volunteers,
Who bend over backward
To accomplish what she says is needed,
That she has already seeded
Into the soil
from her own toil,
To boil a brew of fantastic proportions,
Making everyone ooh and awe,
As each one drops their jaw,
And then can’t help but be bewitched
By her charm and her laughter,
Which is what I am always after.
That is why,
so long ago,
My heart reached out to her,
Writing love laced letters
from the war in Viet Nam,
Enticing her to become
My one and only.
And I tell you truly, she’s not my wife.
The priest declared us
Mates
for
Life.
And it has been so wonderfully great,
We’ve been married forty-eight
Marvelous years.
Many of which brought me to tears
Of Joy,
Of course,
what else could they be,
When I am married to the one and only
Denise Montoya.
