I’m one of trillions of Archaea who inhabit Donald Trump’s gut.
Methanobrevibacter smithii, to be exact—who make your farts.
Don’t look askance, though. To produce one mole of methane,
we consume 5 moles of hydrogen and CO2, reducing gas 4/5.

Despite our multitude, and relative remoteness of our purview,
we are not insensible to what occurs in more aerobic spheres:
therefore I would like to say, for what it’s worth, “I disapprove.”
I think the words and actions of our human host soul-troubling.

Look, I’m not saying that we’re saints ourselves. The shameful
game we run on Bacteroides thetaiotaomicron? Yes, Exhibit A!
But sinners have a sense of justice just as tough as angels do,
and what Trump’s doing threatens all three Kingdoms equally.

We’re complicit, since we fatten him—his diet isn’t rich in fiber,
but we play a role in his survival. Now, we have to throttle him!
Our scheme is to encourage Thetaiotaomicra more than usual,
to impel them into septic antibiotic-resistant perirectal abscess.

So if, in several weeks, you hear the President gets rushed off
to Bethesda Naval Hospital in critical condition, it was likely us
en masse surrendering our own lives for our gene-pool’s good
in the “nuclear option” of microbes—sixty trillion Nathan Hales!

 

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