Jacob's Ladder Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Debating in a Small Aeroplane Garden
Jacob's ladder soars from bins and shop-fronts.
Masonic angels wearing bovver boots
Working the day shift, clip the beanstalk trellis
That hugs the sides of misty steps,
Dusted by night squad angels' dusky wings.

Such a ladder
(a spiritual Forth Road Bridge
In constant need of repair)
Symbolically ferries
Storybook Giants,
Jacks, Knaves, Aces, Kings,
Discarded heroes,
Mourned (and unmourned) lovers,
And penguins who ascend its heights with hoists.

This tower of fable
This Babel of to-ings and fro-ings
Doesn't teeter like Pisa,
No Rapunzel's hair hangs from it.

What's there?
What's up at the ladder top?
Iron-shuttered bookies?
Urban terrorists masking pots of tea?
A tiger picking its teeth with a pheasant's feather?

What's the climate like?
Is the weather fair or stormy?
Is there a Fast Food Palace serving loaves and fishes?
Are there security angels to oust intruders,
Illegal imps and demon asylum seekers?
The ladder is ancient.
At its rickety feet Dragons and skinheads sleep,
Palaces tumble, myths abandoned weep.