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?