a brave new upgrade in poetry

all these years
we figured the surveillance state would be
wall-mounted and forced on us through fear
in the end
they’re in our pockets and we paid for it
in the end
big brother broke down to little bits
three hundred million little brothers
in selfie pictures poorly lit
not in loudspeaker calls of one voice
but in the haze of a thousand conspiracy theories
drowning out the truth in white noise
not forced into our hands
by shun or jailing fears
but paid for eighty bucks a month
upgraded every couple of years
we gleefully stand in line
we think it’s fucking fine