I could fall asleep with my head on this table, press
my hot cheek to the cool varnished wood splattered
with other people’s coffee.
I still like my idea of beds suspended from the walls,
folded out to catch your tired bones – who
wouldn’t like a comfy mattress for a few
minutes of rest?
The busy city wears out your feet and sores
your muscles; the least it can give is a café with beds.
But that would be so dirty, they remind me.
The logical ones. The ones who cannot
let go of fact to see perfection.
Yes, I admit, it would be hard to keep clean.
But oh how luxurious to sleep
to the muffled voices and toned-down laughs
of a Chicago coffee shop.