Begin with well-placed propaganda-
words repeated become truth.
Let them marinate, thicken with time
so they stick to the sides of the bowl.
Stir in nostalgia, fog the hindsight.
It should feel like cocoa by fireside
or glass underfoot, the searing
of the downtrodden.
Numb the resistance with
Santa’s lap, hover-boards, iPhones,
white elephants that recycle
over seasons until resting in Goodwill.
Throw in the disillusioned when
the revolution becomes the pulled
linchpin of a grenade.
Then repeat history.