Paperclips

PAPERCLIPS

In this box of 200
Lay rows of beaming mothers-to-be,
Their metallic reach destined
To hold ink-printed children
Named Document, Memo, or Notice.
These paperclip parents,
Inanimate though they are, bend and curl
At the sad knowledge of their roles
As temporary guardians.

*A/N: This is basically one huge extended metaphor. Meh. I like it. It's supposed to be a concrete (or graphic) poem, but thats impossible to do on here.*