There's a restaurant in Queens called the Brick Cafe,
and everything is perfect there,
except if you sit on the bench (not the chairs),
then your seat is too low,
the table too high,
and your shoulders are up round your ears while you dine.
I don't mind bumping knees or having to squeeze
in a cozy old corner cafe,
but a plate at my chest doth summon protest,
and turns me a premature gray.
Hark, summon low tables! Yea, conjure high chairs!
They'll complement the caliber of anyone's feast!
And all will be spared
of opinion laid bare,
by a poet whose palate was nonetheless...
Inspired by: The Brick Cafe