What is it Exactly?

What is it exactly that you plan to do
with all the moments you saved;
the stolen seconds that amassed to hours
the sprinted escalator at Waterloo,
the oyster card, the microwave,
the sluggish baths that became quick showers?

Exactly how long will they remain
lined up on your study bookcase
Like DV tapes labelled in neat black felt tip?
Along self-help books and computer games
Left to mature before you taste
Taking quiet, studied, deliberate sips

Smug in the knowledge that everyone else
Has blown there’s on three course meals,
The scenic route to and from work,
And an extra pint on Fridays whilst
You were making chronological deals
And buying easy-iron half cotton shirts.

But perhaps you’ll never find the right moment,
not wanting to deplete your store,
and find yourself hurtling towards death
without a single second left to contemplate
A life time sat in cafes watching the door
Twiddling your thumbs and catching your breath.