What About Eggs? - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
So here he was, to plead and beg
permission for just one damn egg.
The doctor after he had mesured
had told him if he truly treasured
his life he would forego from then
what drops out of the lowly hen.
'Cholesterol', he had declared
(as if he really, deep-down cared)
'will shorten life and hasten death
you eat it it will take your breath.'
'But Doc, what happened to my Pa
he was a judge, worked in the law
and ran a hobbyfarm as well
in Illinois, Township of Bell,
he ate a dozen eggs, drank cream
and in the evening Jim Beam
shortribs and lard, liver and brain
he hit a hundred, and was sane.
And I have heard that every cell
makes constantly a waxy gel
it is essential to survival
but has, in modern days, a rival.
It should be mankind's greatest goal
to re-invent cholesterol.
It is the chemicals invented
by scientists and those demented
technologists who change our food
into concoctions, quickly brewed
and falsified and overheated
until the goodness is defeated.
Creating illness in the masses
and sitting on their larded asses
and counting all the dirty money,
to then retire where it's sunny.'
'You're out of line, and also sick
your heart is weak, could in the nick
of time be either saved or killed
I'll ask the nurse if she has billed
you for my services so far
and off I am to my own Bar.
But, listen here, I kid you not
what you have heard is mostly rot
eat cereals and chicken legs
but never, ever do eat eggs.'
The patient now had seen the light
and knew that this could not be right
he said, in leaving, 'listen Doc
all that you say is poppycock.'
The doc dropped dead on Christmas day
was found by nurse and midwife Fay
he sat beneath his ceiling fan
and had been eating his All-Bran.
The patient lived to ninety-five
was thankful to be still alive
his motto had been 'Dog Eat Dog,
'and in the evening some grog'.
Comments about What About Eggs? by Herbert Nehrlich
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You