CLOSING TIME

Closing time in the cafe, the chairs
grow amorous and perch
on one another's knees. They stack
themselves in corners, free

of all the human weight
pressing down on them, it goes
they way that worries might,
or depression. Somebody

is sweeping up the empty space
between the tables, wiping stains away.
The chairs are silent. They nestle
into one another, tilt but never fall.