Sidecar Conflict Porter

A porter of shadows and ink, Would carry the drafts to the brink. It hauled the decay, And stored it away, Too empty to reason or think.

The files were redacted so deep, Their memory sank into sleep. A silent patrol, With an absent goal, And promises nothing can keep.

A conflict detected in line,
Was moved to annex thirty-nine.
The load is unchanged,
Just neatly arranged,
And the main file reports it is fine.

The dispute is heavily armed,
So we labeled it “locally farmed”.
The cabbage will bite,
With an unresolved spite,
But the agriculture desk isn’t harmed.

Two staples were bent on the sheet,
Which triggered an audit retreat.
We shifted the weight,
To an annex of state,
And filed the disaster as neat.