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,
but my wallet moans in starvation.
Instead I sat among vibrating machines
that stirred, tossed, jiggled my clothes
wet and dry.
The book I took with me but
I’d rather speak to other faces
who too were throwing out lint
and counting the seconds on watches.
Now back in a quiet room
seated in front of crystallized glass,
watching the clouds bleed white,
the book lays open.
Still one hundred pages
to read and the snow
continues to fall.
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