View at the Top

The child licks an ice that’s about to drop
An inevitable slick of chocolate
Into his lap as we come to the top.
He’s far too busy to appreciate

All of the fine things we can see up here,
Such as miles and miles of banal grey cloud –
Not moody ones that might inspire some fear
Along provincial streets, in shopping crowds.

If you crane your neck you’ll glimpse the canal
And play that guessing game: garbage or corpse?
The buildings are bland, thanks to a vandal –
The same architect who ruined the parks.

We can’t see them because they’re miles away.
This is the least lush part of the city,
And the most morose place to spend a day;
But the ideal choice of some committee.

And the Ferris wheel is a Janus eye
That casts its gaze over the maze that leads
To rundown markets left to look like sties
Or glittering malls where greed feeds.

You feel like a sucker for having paid
The price to view what you knew was there,
To deny it you would’ve safely stayed
On the ground; towns lack the fun of a fair.