Robbie, you could be just another tree —

               birds alighting on your crown

               manifestos slung from branches

               climate combatants congregating in your shade

 

depending on the angle

 

               you could be a conscientious objector, peasant poet

               or spokesperson of objectional misogyny

               you could be a chronic contradiction, an open scroll

               or a supreme internationalist —

 

               you could be mid-composition of the one line

               with the power to end all wars

               when someone pisses on your bauchles, or spews

               over your hand-hewn bluestone pew

 

depending on the angle

 

               verses in Scots might not be what the activist sprays

               across your pedestal — blunt accusations

could merge with the scorries of seagulls —

               you could be the people’s baird, bawbag

 

or subject of rare ceremony, depending on the angle

 

               you might be mounted at a rally by a drunken protestor

               who reaches across your plaid-swathed breast

               to listen for signs of life in the hollow seat

               where your sentimental heart would beat

 

               they might place their mouth to yours

               attempting to resuscitate you

               before tumbling in a flower bed

and pronouncing you dead

               as a city without poets

 

depending on the angle

 

               you might be

the equanimous sage in an octagonal cage

               the radical hub of a city

               or a sundial spruiking in light and shadows

               then again, you might be

               just another poet

               bearing witness

 

depending on the angle

 

               there may be old-fashioned roses

carefully tended

               at the cathedral’s hem behind you

               a wise wahine’s words

inscribed

               on the mural to your left

 

               or the flag of an oppressed people

               held like an olive branch

               in your hand.

Judges’ comments: An edgy, humorous and contemporary take on Robert Burns that is firmly situated in the Octagon in Ōtepoti Dunedin, complete with "climate combatants congregating in your shade” and "the flag of an oppressed people / held like an olive branch / in your hand”. This poet has likewise used repetition to tie it all together.