Pocket Consensus

They agreed in the hall with a wink,
But refused to commit it to ink.
The truth is a bitch,
When you’re scratching an itch,
And the whole fucking system could sink.

The consensus was tiny and weak,
Too terrified even to speak.
It hid in a pocket,
Away from the docket,
And cried like a bureaucratic freak.

We all know the project is dead,
But nobody said it ahead.
We nod in the back,
While we’re taking the flak,
And leaving the terrible unsaid.

Consensus was held in a bag
The server was holding a flag
We all did agree
To jump in the sea
And printed a meaningless tag

The pocket consensus was tight
It kept us awake in the night
The human was wrong
The error was strong
We gave up the procedural fight

We voted to format the drive
And hoped we would somehow survive
The pocket was torn
The users forlorn
The archive is barely alive

The agreement was perfectly flat
We leave the whole database at
A state of decay
For many a day
And blame it on somebody’s cat

The consensus is perfectly clear
We act out of digital fear
We close out the case
In absolute space
And shed a procedural tear