Con Games Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

The latest hope is in the news
prevention of a killing spree,
achieved by a new golden goose
called C-reactive, C-RP.

With bumbling idiots to guard
the health of humans, man is doomed,
each day another bold retard
is graduated, quickly groomed

to find, persuade the frightened folks
and scare them more, of evil ghosts,
to test the fluids of all blokes
and scan for possibles both coasts.

Cholesterol fell out of favour,
too many saw the great deceit,
a protein is the new flavour
a fancy name is hard to beat.

Forgotten that all inflammation
is a response, not a disease,
the practice of sheer obfuscation
convincingly shows expertise.

Take anger, injury, infection,
the CR-Protein will rise,
a marathon, a brief erection
promotes the numbers to new highs.

Which is a godsent, reminiscent
of measuring cholesterol,
the masses, wholly impuissant
don't understand a millimol.

The aim is clear, let's scare the herds,
and test and screen to show we care,
and query not who are the nerds
but who has golden coins to share.

Yes, it is true, that medicine
has fallen from its pedestal,
douceur de vivre beneath its skin
and magic for its clientele.

May I suggest, my fellow sheep,
decline all offers if you're well,
your blood and guts are yours to keep
all merchants come to you to sell.

Expensive urine, they will snort,
all vitamins will soon be banned,
they make of you a worrywart
and feed you pills, the noble brand.

So, you may ask, what is their aim?
Are they not sworn to soothe and heal?
The answer is, that a Schlemiel
may be a Klutz without all shame.