|
| |
Build Me One Thousand Big Bens Outside My Window
The bus driver
Springing over
Tower Bridge
For the third time
In living memory
It fell silent
For twenty-nine
Million pounds
For a bog in the
Elizabethan Tower
It's tilting, leisurely
A gangling chronic
Dipsomaniac at the
London jamboree
Like the tipplers
In Amsterdam
Paper-thin
Leaning squats
Less tax involved
I saw it bong
But it's quite a request
Picture the clanging
Could be heard from
The ISS assuredly
He wanted it as an
Alternative to the
Phone alarm to
Bring him around
In what circumstances
Would you lean? Aloof
On the underground
With not one but
Several toothpicks
Angled out the
Cakehole rather
Than a serpent as
A mask substitute
On a double-decker
I would lean on
Public transport
At the football
Discovering a
Crucifixion round
The corner
Every morning it
Chimes for him
May every day
Chime for him
Copyright ©
Christopher Allen
|
|