10th Floor Voyeur

Dilapidated festival waivers
          on the morning breeze.
          Gone are the magenta floods
          the flags, streamers.
          Yowling echoes of amplified praise
                    linger on my fading
                    ear of mind

The chance was offered, but I
          cowered on floor 10
          crammed my ears full    wax.
          Dared not.

Content in this cocoon, I merely
          watch the orange-eyed pigeons preen
          and scatter from
          brown wheels of kite.

While down on the dirt patch,
          cricket boys have marked
          their boundaries
          in day-glo cones.