The 2CV

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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.





◄ My Grandson Writes his Name

Le Nu Provençal ►


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john short

Tue 18th Apr 2023 01:58

I never learned to drive but this reminds me of many 2CVs I hitched rides in, in France. The only car I ever fancied owning. Either that or a Jensen Interceptor.

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Stephen Gospage

Sun 2nd Apr 2023 08:43

Lovely, David, particularly the 'air of slumped defeat.'
Reminds me of driving a SEAT Panda around the Gran Canaria in 1982. How did we ever get up that hill?
Great work as usual.

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Greg Freeman

Sat 1st Apr 2023 13:52

A cheery paean to a car that holds a place in many people's hearts, David. So many of your poems see the bright side, I've realised.

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