one says
“without me, you’d have lost.”
the other says
“epstein files, bro.”
and just like that
two assholes
who once held hands
under a flag made of stock options
start hurling
vape clouds and NDAs
at each other.

“i made you,”
says the spaceman
eating bugs in his bunker
full of X-branded caffeine
and child custody lawsuits.

“you begged me,”
says the orangeman,
spraying bronzer on the remnants
of a busted NDA.

the internet lights up
like a sex scandal
at a church fundraiser.
“RELEASE THE FILES,”
someone tweets
in all caps
from a tesla
parked illegally
at mar-a-lago.

the truth?
no one cares.
they just want blood
and a coupon code.

in the end
neither of them dies,
neither of them learns,
and both
somehow
get richer.

america, baby.
we don’t do justice.
we do sequels.

Image credit:Open Arts Forum
Lance Watson

Lance Watson splits his time between the United States and the Netherlands, writing poetry and prose based on his observations and general level of indigestion.