Tuesday, 29 June 2010

All you need is cash (and gullibility!)

Money can’t buy you everything, but there are always charlatans around ready and willing to persuade you otherwise. Unfortunately, there is not as yet a cure for diabetes – progress is being made on a number of fronts, but a method of expunging the disease is still some years away. It is, of course, possible for many people to manage the disease successfully using a combination of the right diet and keeping active, but should they waver then the effects of the disease will return. Others may not have this option, as their insulin production may be inadequate or non-existent.

People live in hope though, and many are convinced enough by elaborate claims to part with their hard earned cash, thinking that they have discovered something that the whole of conventional medicine has either failed, or refused to recognise. Pseudo-science and unreliable, manipulated or even fictional evidence may be used to back up the claims. I don’t think the claims in my poem are any more ludicrous than the idea that energised water or lettuce can cure it…!

I met a man who, thrice a week
Ate seven pickled eggs…
Another man I came across
Smeared treacle on his legs!
And yet another squeezed the leaves
Of Himalayan plants,
Then quite obscurely poured the juice
Into his underpants!

When asked what led them to perform
These strange and worrying acts,
They paused, and with a knowing wink
Apprised me of the facts:

It’s well known on the world wide web
That, for a pound or two,
Enlightened gurus will divulge
A means to cure you!
But, as we are all different,
With wealth and needs diverse,
A tailored cure must be devised
That suits your tastes (and purse!)

‘For me, eggs steeped in vinegar –
As long as it is pure –
Will neutralise sugar in my blood,
And thus provide the cure!’

‘An egg cure wasn’t right for me,
But treacle smeared just so
Will draw the glucose from my blood,
And keep my levels low!’

‘And you?’ I asked the man in pants,
‘Your cure’s the strangest yet!’
‘Indeed! My pants, the guru claimed,
Must be forever wet!
But not just any liquid goo
Would fix my pancreas,
But only that extruded from
Expensive mountain grass!’

And with these words I took my leave
And slowly backed away,
For I was sure there is no cure
However much you pay!

1 comment:

  1. So many people willing to part us from our hard-earned cash for vague promises that we will get better, and that if we don't then it must be our fault for not 'running widdershins 'round the witches rock at sunrise during at midnight on All Hallow's Eve' :lol:

    Nice pome