He walked into the conference,
confronted all too sudden by
the earnest decibels of intellect
and penguin-like tuxedos.
He had requested a brief consultation
with the two founders of the system called OM,
instead, the cream of smart society
had gathered here to celebrate itself.
No one remembered him at all,
most likely they were secretaries,
those gaping cleavages on black tuxedo knees,
and here he was, alone again, the fear of death his mate.
'A Johnny Walker, please. No ice',
the waiter smiled and hurried to the bar,
clairvoyant kindness left the sevenhundred mil
as if it were a potent elixir.
He did receive some courage then from Johnny,
and wandered to the centre of the hall.
With glassy eyes he started his strange plea,
'there is this cancer, gentlemen, so can you help? '
So, Pauling, Hoffer, Riordan, Hughes et al
first listened closely then the verdict was pronounced.
'You will most likely get an instant retardation,
while hoping cytostasis can be (help me) done.
Unless repression of the tumour's in the cards
you will not see the light of many carefree days.'
He'd hoped for more, of course, for something like a pledge,
instead they toasted with their handmade crystal glasses.
There was no whisky but a slightly milky drink.
It was the stuff that later saved the fellow's life.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ascorbate-for-cancer/
