I don't know where else to put this, but it's a Sylvia Plath poem from 1959 as recorded in her diary.
If you get hungryI
In the middle of the night
A Snack Bed is Good
For the appetite—
With a pillow of bread
To nibble at
And up the head
An automat
Where you need no shillings
Just a finger to stick in
The slot, and out come
Cakes and cold chicken.