Monsieur le Fournier has appeared on the scene –
his terminus is a mystery; and so is where he’s been.
He drives a Mercedes S-Class – a pristine black Saloon,
with tinted windows, a burnished grill – an image of tycoon.
His income seems nefarious – money is superfluous,
He’s polite and smart, yet humourless,
No-one meets his gaze – yet to all this he’s immune.

Monsieur le Fournier always dines alone,
insists on a corner table to rule out the unknown.
People are never with him, but rather in his presence,
the consummate professional – the model of quintessence.
He’s meticulous and fastidious, wears nice suits with shiny shoes,
oozing an air of confidence – a false bearer of good news.

When he looks into the mirror, Cary Grant he does not see;
he does so as little as possible, for he thinks 'that's not me'.
The person who looks back at him is like a perfect stranger,
yet doesn’t look the way he feels – it reflects someone of danger.
But this imposter is the one he faces through his glass,
he adjusts his tie and tries to smile - or something that will pass
scrutiny or similar - but it's out of reach for him
for the result it gives is a fix-eyed stare with a rictus,...