THE NIGHT CAFE Step inside the night cafe: It opens after dark. Baristas froth moon-lattes, And there’s lots of room to park. To pass on by the night cafe Would be a crying shame. Who wouldn’t want to be someplace Where people know your name? A special thing occurs when the stars rise. The doors to the cafe all come unlocked, But no matter how hard you squint your eyes, You won't spot the key-holder. (She’s a fox.) She’s not the only animal you’ll meet If you venture into the night cafe. This place is host to many gentle beasts: Slow-moving vegetarians...mostly. An octopus works four groupheads at once, Steaming the milk just-so as coffee pours. Here, the wait is short, and if your funds Are low, someone will spot you. (But, of course!) A lone wolf washes dishes in the back. In his case, the night cafe provides A bit of time and some space from the pack. He scours, rinses, wipes the cups bone-dry. Some strange hybrid of creature works the till, A thing all feathered, muscular, and free, Alive in the sunlight and counting bills. (That sweet, bizarre, lovely creature is me.) So won’t you come into the night cafe? The candlelight is bright enough for words. Have a seat, your drink is on the way. Your plate is brought to you by chirping birds. When you’re all done, just know you’re welcome back, Each evening, when the sun turns down its sheets. The night cafe will give you what you lack. The night cafe will meet your every need.
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See you next week.
