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.