Two Poems by Boomer Kambhu

North Shore

Snaking line
of tourists, dressed up
(or down)
in tank-tops and board-shorts

shouting orders
for overpriced frozen shrimp,

shell-on, slathered
in fried garlic bits over butter

soaked two scoops
of white rice.

Postcard from Paradise

Remember that epic
set of northern swells
that transformed the sea
into one forty-foot glove after another, clamping down on those
riding below.

Forget the knuckle-tattooed wolf-pack who claim
their turf
by snapping boards

of out-of-towners

over their knees.

Remember the grains of sand

gently roasting
the bottoms of my soles
as I hopped along Waikiki Beach,

dodging tourists

drowned in mai tais.

Forget the steady stream
of empty cabs
flying past throngs of grunts

desperately trying

to hail one
down on a Friday night.

Remember that sweaty trek

through bamboo
forests and muddied trails

to find an oasis fed

by water-falling

over cliffs above.

Forget the candy

wrappers and cigarette

butts, casually
flicked out from passing

car windows
on scenic drives.

 

Remember Helena’s home cooked

short-ribs, aged

hanging from the rafters

of her kitchen,
while she mashed on

poi below.

Forget the camps
of homeless
tents pitched by men

who stumble

along, forgetting
even their own names.

Boomer Kambhu was born in Bangkok, Thailand and raised in Washington DC. After college, he moved west to Frisco, Texas, where he helped found a sports magazine, Inside Frisco Sports. As a beat writer, his assignments ranged from covering MLS soccer to Pop Warner football. After Texas, Boomer lived in Kaaawa, Hawaii, where he developed his craft in writing and the visual arts. He currently lives in New York City with his wife, Grace. In addition to poetry, his passions include reading books on economic history and sampling noodles in all their incarnations.