Commemorative Ribbon Custody Schism

One ribbon was somehow the first
At three different events, unrehearsed.
Each archive said, “Mine.”
The photos looked fine.
So fabric got outvoted by thirst.

The dispute stayed polite for two weeks,
Then got mean in municipal squeaks.
Every claimant had proof,
Yet exclusivity’s spoof
When the town wants one object to speak.

One note said, “Save the good ribbon,” and fled.
Which explained approximately dread.
Not whose opening day,
Not whose plaque got the sway,
Just that everyone worshipped one thread.

So it rides in a padded valise,
Under joint seal and rotating peace.
If you force one true past,
You lose three towns at last,
So they archive shared longing, not peace.

The ribbon is one, but is three,
A textile-based holy decree.
It cut the new bank,
The bench, and the tank,
And bends all the laws of degree.

We laminated it with care,
To settle the three-way despair.
Now nobody knows
Where the heritage goes,
But at least it’s not breathing the air.

The artifact schedule is set
To cover the historical debt.
If claimants agree
On a rotational fee,
The ledger can easily forget.

They put the damn thing in a case,
So nobody loses their face.
We rotate the key,
For municipal glee,
And hide the procedural waste.