The Talking Clock

Bumped into a mate the other day,

Hadn’t seen him in years, but was on my way

To an appointment and so couldn’t stop,

Though I did get me an invite to pop

Around to his new place on the sixth floor

Of a tower block twenty stories or more.

A feature of his flat was a large gong,

Mentioned it as his clock then moved along.

Good evening, beers and chat then time to go;

But what was the time? I wanted to know…

My mate with mallet gave the gong a smack -

The flat pulsated with this mighty whack

And a voice came clearly through the ceiling

“Knock it off, it’s two o’clock in the morning.”