He picked us up near Torino,

a dapper Frenchman 

with an impressive moustache.

He was going to Nice.

So were we!

Such luck.

One lift

all the way from Torino to Nice.

We settled back to enjoy the ride.

We came to a roundabout.

With gesticulations of frustration

and twitches of his moustache,

he missed the turning.

We went round again

and the next time,

he missed it again.

The third time we were ready

to call out and point it out

in good time.

But with more expansive gesticulating

and moustache twitching

he still missed it.

There were many roundabouts 

between Torino and Nice.

We came to know them intimately.

On arrival we were hugged and kissed

in thanks for our help.

Without us, who could say where he’d be.

Not us, for sure!

He invited us to accompany him

to Monte Carlo the next day,

if we would like to.

Yes! We would like to!

We turned up at the allotted time and place,

but he never came.

So, we never went to Monte Carlo.

Possibly he never went there either.

We imagine him still,

going round and round a roundabout

somewhere in Nice,

his moustache twitching in frustration.

He’ll be a very old man by now.


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