At The Scott Monument, Edinburgh Poem by Sheena Blackhall

For Scott read Scot writ large
This general of the masterstroke
If born today would have been
Master of the Blockbusters
Would have out-Pottered Potter
Would have had a global franchise
On media, films and merchandise

He sits in the facsimile of an Apollo Rocket
In marble splendour facing Princes Street
Like Captain Kirk, waiting to blast off boldly

Trams glide like silent submarines
Menacing and stealthy
Carrying cosmopolitan passengers

A hotch-potch of pigeons hobble and burble
Like a D-day Armada of birds on cobbling seas

David Livingstone, soldier of the Lord
Holds up his Bible, not stemming
The surge of indifferent unbelievers
Giving him the Haw-Haw

The Saltire over Jenners, droops
Like a deflated parachute in the windless air
An ex-squaddie, shell shocked,
Rattles a hopeful tin. Small change
Clatters like bullets
A piper plays a militant marching tune

A tourist extends a trident
Holding a camera at arm's length
Like a square of toast,
For the all-pervasive selfie of today