I’d like to tell you the cafes,
the million cafes I’ve wondered,
the cloudy and the silent ones,
drown in dim shadows,
the ones to easy go
and those where you’re afraid
those that are spreading tables in the night
and those confining people
as to smell their breaths,
the ones for chilly dew and
those for rainy dawns,
and those cruelly diven
into deafening music.
Appealing bright cafes,
halls of noisy odours,
small fashinable places,
the saddest then of all,
the clean cafe
hygienically silent and no smoking
white plastic tables, cockoo nest,
and always someplace else
the hidden far cafe tomorrow to discover