{ I don't know about the dancing in, but it is about pain. . .}
For Medicinal Purposes Only
The pharmaceutical potentates gain
points with an endless game versus pain,
cranking out pricey capsules by the millions,
racking up sharp profits by the billions,
propping up ads whose tiny print occludes
the fearsome side effects each dose includes.
As alternatives to bait-and-switchery,
home brews bubble just north of witchery:
woodland herbs and blooms and backyard botanics
to snub corporate chemicals and mechanics.
Such irksome ailments as warts or bunions
may meet their banes in garlic and onions.
The nagging malaise which a callus hardens on
could soften with balm from the wort of St. John.
A sagging libido, with its play stopped at “fore,”
recruits a concoction to make it rise, shoot, and score.
Strange-smelling roots set a-boil in a pot
might spark a desired pregnancy (or not.)
When acres of crops, planted by folksy lore,
harvest sad failure, we're still mad and sore.
With scripted pills and discount drugs in bins
we fight on and on. But pain always wins.