Schedules and work loads

Time
flies away with a cliche
wrapped around its neck,
one end trailing,
tantalizing.
If only
I could jump high enough,
I could wrestle it
into submission.
A wind whips; it dances
just outside my grasp.
Instead I grind
my beans.
One more cup at dusk;
One more cup at morning;
Perhaps time will not notice
I've stolen an hour from sleep.