Gene Bourne Poet Iambic Pentameter

A Boxcar Named Desire

No, we weren't a couple one expected. 
"What could she be thinking", one reflected. 
Yet we held an undefined attraction; 
Some subconscious neuron interaction. 

After weeks we gathered our composure 
Time to face my parents' first exposure. 
True, your looks were just a bit off kelter(sic). 
Poets often live at homeless shelters. 

Mother stiffened, held her throat, and gasped. 
Father never moved, in shock perhaps. 
Then we vowed to do what we must do. 
Freight trains leave at seven, ten and two.


Gene Bourne
03-19-14

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Judy Konos April 23, 2017 at 12:40 PM Fantastic! Each and every word! WOW

Bawa Talwar April 23, 2017 at 10:05 AM Good one gene the reaction of parents s typical. I liked the ending Kindly review my works also I've just joined.

Ralph Sergi April 23, 2017 at 7:55 AM Hi Gene: Very descriptive theme. You bring back the days when poets lived in small spaced garrets!

Frederic Parker April 23, 2014 at 11:01 AM judgment can be harsh, especially from parents, glad to see you back Gene Gene Bourne April 23, 2014 at 5:28 PM Hi, Fred ....I only visit my Inbox ...No more posts or answers. Rarely I will answer...but with generic Avatar and pseudonym...When you get a belly full, etc etc.. Hope all's well with you and yours. Thanks for the read and comment. (My apologies to "A Streetcar Named Desire"), which is still humming along with the original car in New Orleans). No streetcars have ever run in the French Quarter proper. The streets are too narrow. The tracks make a turn anywhere bordering it. ...YF...Gene