The first car we owned was a 2CV

with no certifiable history.

The year we got together

we drove it to the end of its days.

With its tinny dinted roof

it had an air of slumped defeat

we rose above quite easily.

 

When summer broke all records

the windows that didn’t quite close

were an unexpected bonus.

Its mind-boggling gear stick

seemed set to leave its socket;

the functional dashboard

as neat as an early Avro’s.

 

Our one encounter with the law

– a strapped and booted gendarme –

required a shameless display

of fawning franglais.

A set of bulbs and a red triangle

raised its status to legal.

 

On days off our alpine ascents

were a puttering epic;

each free-falling return

a foot-to-the-floor held note

of whinging metal.

 

It was sheer foolhardiness

I hear you say to make such journeys

in a such a bagnole and I of course

can see you are right –

as always, I can only agree.