Little Servants

Four thin bodies, trapped,
stuck to a magnet
in a white, house-shaped container,
heads peaking through a slot
ready to be grabbed
as needed.

We holler for attention--
we can't wait
to attach ourselves
if only you will let us.

We love it when you bend our
stiff, wired existence
to slip us over the edge
of your pages of poetry.

What boring lives
dangling here
or lying on the floor,
helpless paperclips.
How much longer can we rest?
We're caught up on our sleep already.

We want action--
give us purpose, meaning--
let us serve you,
oh master.