The virus went down to D.C. and cast his vote for gun control.
He smiled, virtuous and true, as liberal-minded lawmakers both cowered and cooed, their smiles hidden behind masks.
But his work was unfinished.
The virus remained in town and voted to repeal and replace Obamacare.
He offered a knowing wink, confident and sure, as his conservative colleagues pumped his hand and slapped his back, their masks cupping their chins.
But he was a slippery one – floating gleefully through air and into noses and down into lungs, a right good place to settle.
The virus got comfy in Congress and voted to protect the Dreamers. He then took a knee, somber and sad, and bowed his head as terrified Dems stood - six feet away - in utter awe of his convictions.
But he had more ground to conquer.
The virus signed a long-term D.C. lease and voted to build the wall on the southern border. The good ‘ole boys of the Grand Old Party sang and shine and invited him to the party, all together in a cozy and unventilated corner of the Capitol.
And yet he was a slippery one still – sauntering undaunted through new air and into unsullied noses and down into Red and Blue lungs alike, fertile fields in which to bloom.
The virus had a think on the politics of the day and voted on the absolute constitutionality of impeaching Donald Trump. He shrugged his shoulders, helpless and hapless against the facts and riots, as the Democrats nodded gravely behind plexiglass dividers.
But what of the patriots?
The virus watched evening Newsmax broadcasts and consulted with Brother Q before voting for free speech, protected and sacred. He tipped his MAGA cap and saluted Cruz and Co. while chanting “USA! USA!”
And then he was slippery no more. He surveyed the tainted air, sickened noses and diseased lungs and congratulated himself – “Well done!” yet, as expected, so easily accomplished.