Walking The Mat Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Nobody walks the mat today. They click, date, dump by text
Union Street's a conveyor belt of consumers
Trailing bags of shopping like Livingstone's bearers

Toddlers scream unchecked in red-faced rage,
While child-mums flick their ash on buggy- heads

Skateboarders scrape the flagstones, striking sparks
A teenager riding a bike bombs past the Adelphi
Parting the waves of walkers, Moses on speed

At bus stops, peroxide grannies grumble at city changes
An ambulance parks at McDonalds for a human carry out

The sun puts in an unexpected appearance
The sounds are of Eastern Europe, Africa, Dubai, Doric

Everyone stops as a white stretch limo oozes over the tarmac
As large as its driver's ego, sleek's a suppository

By the greasy steps to the Green
A scraggy, spaced out youth has hit ground zero

A child drools at the tempting aroma of chocolate
Wafting out from a shop of candied morsels

In the cool of Archibald Simpson's,
A beer drinker downs his lager,
Flashing a bicep tattooed with a Devil's leer

At the Market Cross, the feeky drinkers
Swagger and stagger, frightening away the tourists
Under the indignant hooves of the rearing unicorn

Everywhere, seagulls indulge in seagull thuggery
Everyone's keeping their rowies under wraps