Time for sale

An extra hour
slipped under my pillow
like a coin from the fairies
for grown ups.

What to do with it
how to use
this sixty minute prize
gift wrapped, entwined around the twilight.

Often I've imagined seeing
time 'for sale'
in shop windows, draped over a mannequin's arm
reduced to

sob story discounts
the blagging and the bartering
scrums and the scramble by the optimistic
yet some might not bother.

I sit here, it's so early
and as the big hand drags its feet through the bend
I wonder how much that ticking is worth
to

the busy, the bored, the lame
the same?
priceless to the aged,
but such a misspent youth.