Ribbonward Cordialis

They opened the office anew,
With the very same ribbon in view.
The Ward takes the thread,
To the next empty bed,
And pretends that the promise is true.

We took a nice photo to share,
To show the community we care.
The ribbon is frayed,
From the games we have played,
But it looks fucking grand in the air.

The artifact moves through the town,
To cover the corporate frown.
It blesses the space,
With a terrible grace,
While the whole institution burns down.

We cut the same ribbon again,
For a project constructed by men
Who embezzled the cash,
Left a pile of ash,
And requested a duplicate pen.

The Cordialis drags through the mud,
A ribbon that’s stained with our blood.
We smile for the press,
In a horrible mess,
As the basement is filled with the flood.

The ribbon is totally fake,
Just a prop for the board members’ sake.
The Ward cuts it clean,
Like a well-oiled machine,
While the company’s structure will break.

The ribbon of civic decree,
Was cut for the third jubilee.
Its fibers now hold,
The legends of old,
As stamped by the local trustee.

The artifact was deployed twice,
To capture a duplicate slice.
The cutting aligned,
The protocols signed,
Which certified the exact price.

We labeled the scissors a bridge,
And filed the red silk in the fridge.
The ward took the stand,
To bless all the land,
And authorized tax on a midge.