A Balcony

Everybody wants a balcony.

                         A Balcony

              I would like a balcony
                overhanging a river
       but then again, who wouldn’t?
                    I could sit there,
    among the pigeons and sparrows
         with ducks dawdling below,
  sipping coffee from a large thimble
                 perched on a table
          the size of a medium pizza.

                   I would entertain
                one guest at a time
              who must be no taller
              than "this" to join me.
           Hair should be trussed up
          in a bun or braided, twirled,
               then stacked up high
       where there is the most room,
     because the flowers are spilling
   out of their boxes, along the railing
                 and onto the floor.
         They are such bossy things,
         which can only be expected
of pansies, especially the yellow ones.

          A small scoop of ice cream
         would be very welcome but
             no bigger than a mouse
                  and with a spoon
                as long as my pinky
            but a serviceable shovel
                     to the mouse.

               These are my terms
             for balcony ownership,
         without which I will not sign
               upon that dotted line. 
                        As I see it,
                   only a great fool
               would do otherwise.