Studying for an Immunology Final in the Coffee House at Midnight

All’s quiet on the Western front,
Or rather, the southern edge of the Drag
Where I sit, crooked-backed and hunched
Over books and notes and pens and coffee,
Staring past my latte on its neat white saucer,
Steam rising and foam falling
To the few people who still walk past
In the dead hours of a dead day,
A semi-cold night of a Texas winter.
Behind the trees the Tower’s still on,
But I feel like I’m the only one
Of a few still left to stress in this city.