by Paul Bamberger 

Life As A Thirty Second Sound Bite

would he find a way out or was it simply too much trouble the grandeur of simplicity too unattainable the idea of get on with it made no sense to him at all given the lack of sincerity passed it on to the jokester who found money value in the laughable but could something retrievable be coming his way perhaps through a gate left open by the very few sundown shadows at the top of the stairs fail the possibility the report on him he would stay put

Looking For The Comfort In It All

never trust all you hear it’s a pyramid scheme prosperity in a vacant lot freud walked right up to her looked her in the eye told her she was cured so off she went looking for the comfort in it all and where’d ja who on every street corner who’d ja say all those sweet saturday night boys and how’d ja where in every boy’s embrace what did ja find there’s no takeout service here

Nuevo Laredo

where the dying give flight to meanness temple raised to sentencing of the soul any fool can tell you the market’s going to crash but you continue to open and close doors looking for the boy who once stood where bridge and fence meet did he cross and in crossing find you gathering up your things hurrying to get out of Nuevo Laredo you who climbed back fence into the fast comings and goings of a Mexican night you who took a girl who in her youth had everything to give in that one unnamed moment glad to be done with her

Cross Currents

in the beginning there was i’ll show you mine if you show me yours and she gave birth to a son who could sight read in any direction the old huckster saw that the boy was as one of them the arrow that knows only the one direction crossed garden skies she took her son and by morning gone south to find work in a land where the old huckster dare not go with a smile the old huckster tipped his hat moved on to other projects in the south the days were hard the nights not pretty don’t you worry yourself dearie the honeysuckle will soon bloom then you will forget you ever had those garden dreams her son became famous traveling the flatlands selling notions that turned destinies evenings they drank in the park

A Strange Day In An Early Spring

where clouds shadow field down to river’s edge scent on wind keeps the hounds baying a body found it’s ok maw he was no good rumor is he touched a child then another then another and still yet another mornings whistle the boy into the street where meanness is no more than another game laughter a lesser god of things gone wrong he ventures into the shadows lashes out who is this boy lashes out until the world bleeds who am i now lashes out until the cruelties come home lovers in their beds lie still shades drawn

About the Author:

Paul Bamberger  received an MFA Degree in English from the University of Massachusetts/Amherst and  had several books of poetry published, most recently,  On The Badlands Of New Times, Deerbrook Editions Publishing in 2018.