When Tweedle Dumb Met Tweedle Dee

Dumb downs his half-finished hamburger

and lies back looking at the stars,

coming into land, looks down

at the bright milky way of stars

that light up the free-market half

of the world, the rest benighted

in authoritarian dark. “And this is why,

we came here,” Dumb thinks,

returning promptly to his slumber.

*

Dee is rigid in uniform in the early morning cold,

awaiting on the runway, as Dumb and wife

plod down the steps, try to conceal

their jetlagged eyes and hands

outstretch, meet, shake

in tokens of enduring friendship.

Dee grabs the chance

with beads of devious eyes.

*

Dee fists the podium with the full thwack

of a 200 megaton thermonuclear blast.

Dumb’s hands sail through the air

like antiballistic-missile-bearing planes.

“But we’re best of friends,” Dumb jokes.

Dee adds that “the world can rest assured

asleep in bed” and, turning to the dear

leader next to him, changes the tone.

“And when you promised to clean

the sewers, I bet you never imagined

I’d be one of the creatures you’d

be dragging out,” Dee grins awaiting

the simultaneous translation.

“I think he scrubs up rather well,”

Dumb oozes, “don’t you?”

playing the crowd.

*

Due protocol proceeds. Dee offers

the first gift—a hefty baseball bat

is raised and handed over with smiles.

“Gift for your son,” Dee grins.

“That shows who’s boss,” Dumb

grins back in return.

“And as our gift to you, Dear Leader,

the freedom of our finest fast food joints,

in case you ever pay our fine

free land a visit one fine day.

Dee grins from ear to ear,

looks genuinely pleased. “Big Macs all round,”

he chortles in poor English, holding

vouchers up for all to see.

“I think that just about wraps it all up,”

Dumb barks, good humor fading

from his faking face, as he  proceeds to walk away.