Still to Read

one hundred pages
still to read
and the snow continues to fall.
coffee was an option,
that dark sweet elixir
that makes my hands shake
and keeps me awake.
instead I sat among vibrating machines
that stirred, tossed, jiggled my clothes
wet and dry.
the book I took with me but
there were those to talk with
and water to drink, now
back in a quiet room
seated in front of glass
the book lays open.
still one hundred pages
to read and the snow
continues to fall.