Writing · 26 July 2026 · 1 min read

Tower Bridge at Sunset. (London in Wax Exhibition 1987)

These old arthritic joints,

Are now vantage points,

Frozen into picture postcards.

Of the Tower Bridge and Beefeater guard,

Where once was a working port,

Is now just real estate fought over,

By people from afar with bulging ambition.

It's a cynical age,

But a fitting stage,

For the Crown Jewels of the British nation.

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