The revolution’s not going to come.
Your dad says he’s scheduled for

Meetings all morning. Your cousin says,
“We need to stop all the criminals.”
An aunt nods sagely, observing
That those who are truly deserving
Succeed, while others stand idly,
Looking for handouts. Your brother’s
A cop, and he cherishes order.
Your sister is paid to convince
Legislators to lower the taxes
Of her wealthy clients, and all
Of your friends spend each day at their

Jobs, then come home to get lost in

Escapist TV.  They have no idea what’s

In the news, or what matters.  They’ll

Vote, if they bother, for whoever

Ran the last ad that they saw before
They went to bed. Rest assured that

The revolution is still-born, laying

Unclaimed on the ground as the bovines

Around it move slowly, chew stupidly,

Stare into space, and, unspeaking,

Take comfort from knowing that

Little is likely to change.