I am but a wee paper clip <br />from wire have I been fashioned <br />My energy? Stored potential. <br />No trace herein, of passion. <br /> <br />My twisted form designed to grip <br />and gather together reams. <br />Sometimes I’m pushed a tad too wide <br />you damn near bust my seams. <br /> <br />I’ve held for you, your precious forms. <br />Your letters, bills, invoices. <br />I’ve held them in that musty drawer <br />whilst you perused your choices <br /> <br />My brother was on the desk next door <br />where your co-worker, Mr Flashman <br />has used him to clean his ear-wax out <br />then tossed him in the trash-can. <br /> <br />And now I go to join him <br />I have had my fill of paper. <br />All thanks to Father Christmas, <br />And his poxy electric stapler.<br /><br />Danny Reynolds<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/011-unstationery-traveller/
