Posted a day ahead of the usual end-of-month schedule so as not to disrupt the Sunday Who Review. Given the subject of today's poem, it feels appropriate.
* * *
Making
Time
If I
could make time,
I’d
start small,
Fashioning
seconds by hand.
Once
I’d formed enough moments
To
string into minutes,
I’d lay
them under my pillow
So I
could catch
A bit
of extra sleep at night.
Of
course, an hour
Is
really the shortest length
Of
marketable time,
So I’ve
have to expand
Before
long.
I’d
carve careful hours
To be
bought by overworked friends
Looking
to hang on
To the
weekend
A
little longer.
Soon,
I’d have myself
A
bustling little time-maker’s shop
With
entire rows
Of
summer afternoons,
A
2-for-1 rack
Of lost
Daylight Saving’s hours,
And a
glass case
Full of
golden years
Polished
to a good-old-days gleam.
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