Memorial Scholarship Proxy Substitution

The packet said service and grit,
But the room had another small fit:
“Would dear Harriet smile
At this youngster’s whole style?”
Which is not a criterion, shit.

They said one applicant felt just right,
With a steadiness Harriet might cite.
That’s affectionate fog,
Not a score on a log,
And it dies when exposed to the light.

The strongest on paper got beat
By a candidate softer and sweet.
Not because they had earned
What the handout had termed,
But because Harriet’s ghost chose the seat.

The rule Sister Casserole gave
Was both kind and administratively brave:
If you’d blush to explain
Why you docked them a grain,
Then that metric belongs in a grave.

The rubric was placed in the bin,
To let the blank processing begin.
The numbers align,
The paperwork’s fine,
And someone was chosen to win.

The guidelines have turned into lore,
That haunts the committee room door.
The donor intent,
Is a mystic event,
That dictates the finalized score.

The criteria takes too much time,
To measure a student’s prime.
Just go with the vibe,
And skip the diatribe,
I’m clocking out right at the chime.