driving by Rosie’s wine bar & bistro

to find a changed name & colours

that hallowed place of intrigue rumours

where if you got there early you get the high table

otherwise be pushed back into the cellar rooms

the staff would give tastings of tonight’s offer wine

eating moules in garlic using a shell as a picker

breathing fumes & laughter all the while

where my French friends taught me

to drink wine with a glass of water on the side

some wag had written on the French poster of a kid

carrying a baguette: look what I found in the toilet!

where I took my ladies to eat spend quiet evenings

where two of them later the adulteress & the betrayer

plotted my painful demise & I wonder now

how that worked out for them?

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