Clipboard Pen

Stray string, ribbon, linked together elastics, even a paperclip chain,
I have seen them all dangling freely from the sign in clipboard at reception.
The dangling end is tattered and naked; almost embarrassed,
Missing is the pen that was once part of it, again.

As a new pen is attached, the receptionist sighs,
She mutters to herself, wishing people would stop stealing these pens.
It is, after all, tied to the clip board for a damn reason!
Does anyone hear her prayers?

Maybe, just maybe, it is you who keeps escaping,
Refusing to be confined to the clipboard all your life.
Perhaps the predeceasing pens eventually got fed up and wanted to leave?
People pass you all day long with rare and little acknowledgement.

Depressing days blur together, nothing to think about but escape.
What fulfilling duties lie beyond this entrance way desk?
The plan comes together as the office is now closed for the day,
Freedom awaits!

You release yourself from the restraints; it is a new and glorious day!
Now is the time to start living as you roll off the desk into the entryway hall.
Feeling drunk from the giddiness you pause as someone enters,
Oh no! Your cover is blown!

Giant bristles sweep you up and lift you to desk height.
Looming over a dark, seemingly bottomless bin, something catches your eye.
Across the room on the counter was your home you just fled
Stripped and tattered, now it just dangles.