Window Shopping in Singapore

I am staring out the window onto rooftops
Every day the same buildings remind me I am not at home
My eyes don’t see anything but birds and night descending
But still I look outside at nothing at all.

I can hear the trucks unloading
At the bulk goods store
or dogs barking
When the expats arrive home at night

They cut down the Bamboo grove that used to sway
When the wind and rain came calling
To let us breathe for a moment with the windows open
A respite from the heat that locks us indoors

Occasionally there are parades
Or hungry ghost money burning
Once there was a march for the Buddhist temple
All the white clothed monks with white head bands
Pouring down the street toward the banging pots sound

But where is Halloween? Thanksgiving, or Christmas cheer?
Plastic decorations in store windows
Or the lights on Orchard Road?
No. I can’t find the festival feeling anywhere.
This place is only for domestic help and shopping.
My wallet is full
But there is nothing to buy here.
Nothing at all.