How do you save time?
Can you stuff it in a jar—
and wait until it’s so full
the minutes no longer jingle
against ceramic walls?
Can you invest it
in some lucrative account—a 401K,
and claim interest each month
like clock work—
a return of 3% to the hour?
Can you bury it in the yard?
in a hole your dog feverishly dug up—
like a time capsule,
and excavate it decades later,
to discover your treasure of years,
waiting to be spent, lived.
Can you stuff it under your mattress?
Roll it up in thick rubber bands
for safe keeping
to add cushioning to your slumber
and comfort—no one will get their hands
on the hands of time.
Can someone steal your seconds?
Or perhaps save it to a flash drive,
to upload at will.
Any time any place
protected behind illuminated screens
and intangible technological machines.
Or can you save it like energy?
Allow time to hibernate.
Store it up.
Regenerate it with all you ate—
rice and breads and pasta
get more rest,
Can you recharge time
like a battery?
When it’s running low,
close to hitting empty on the meter.
Continuously connect cables and cords
to wall outlets like an umbilical lifeline.
Restore life when time has been drowned.
No, you cannot save time.
But you can savor it
like ice cream—
Though if you wait, it will melt—
And if you enjoy it, eventually it will be gone.
And you have a stomachache.