The 2 CV

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for Bernadette

 

The first car we owned was a 2 CV

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.

 

◄ Freeman Street, Grimsby

Comments

poemagraphic

Fri 11th Jan 2019 23:05

What a car!

Memories are made of this.

Loved this little poem about a little car... blessed you are.

Po

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Martin Elder

Fri 11th Jan 2019 23:04

What memories this poem evokes. I had at least two friends who had a C.V. I remember they had amazing suspension. Legend has this was to allow French farmers to be able to transport chicken eggs across bumpy fields and tracks with breaking them.
Marvellous poem David

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