🦋🤖 Robo-Spun by IBF 🦋🤖

Orange fizz in a bottle’s gleam,
But history hides behind the dream.
Not born in joy, nor fruit, nor fun—
It bubbled up under Hitler’s sun.

Coca-Cola, bold in brand,
Had German roots, and took a stand—
To keep the profits, dodge the heat,
When Allied ships ceased sugar and wheat.

’41, the war was tight,
No syrup sailed through Nazi night.
Max Keith, the man in charge that day,
Had to find a German way.

No Coke, no cola, no import spice—
Just scraps: beet waste and apple slice.
So Fanta rose, a Frankenstein,
Of food remains and fascist line.

Made not of fruit but of regime,
To fuel the Reich’s domestic dream.
Factories churned behind the scenes,
While tanks rolled on in fields obscene.

A Nazi drink? It wore no swastika face,
Yet quenched the thirst of Hitler’s base.
From party rallies to soldier’s mess,
Fanta flowed in wartime dress.

After the fall, when war was through,
Coke returned, its slate “brand new.”
And Fanta stayed, now bright and sweet,
Its roots obscured in citrus treat.

So sip it chilled if you must be—
But history clings to every spree.
Behind that cap, behind that glee:
Fascist Fanta, see?

Prompt: write a poem “Fascist Fanta, see?” full of historic details of Fanta’s Nazi origin