Small Grant Luncheon Minutes Treated as Binding Pledge Record

The minutes said “warmly received,”
Which the treasurer later believed
Was a phrase that could spend.
By the paperwork’s end,
No one knew what the room had conceived.

Three flavors of yes filled the hall:
Funds approved, funds assumed, funds too kind to recall.
Once gratitude’s staged
In a noon-crowded cage,
Any clawback just sounds a bit small.

The secretary swore with a wince,
“Those remarks were atmospheric, gents.”
But applause in a crowd
Can get fiscally loud
When nobody asks for expense.

No clawbacks were planned in the end.
The grants were too sweet to rescind.
When shame’s shared by all,
It grows soft in the hall,
And becomes what the ledgers pretend.

The claps were assessed at a rate
Of forty-five dollars a plate.
We balanced the books
On atmospheric looks
And billed it all to the state.

A single polite little clap
Unleashed a financial mishap.
We opened an inquiry
With maximal fury,
To cover the treasurer’s gap.

The minutes recorded assent,
Though nobody knew what it meant.
With no clear receipt,
The file is complete,
And the money is officially spent.