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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

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