Emily Berry: commended The Incredible History of Patient M

I went swimming with the Doctor;
he wore his stethoscope and listened
to the ebb and flow.

The water is drowning! he cried;
I feigned innocence. It’s news to me, I said.
I hid the stones in my pockets.

I’m in training with the Doctor. He can’t
work out why I’m so heavy. He takes
my pulse every hour. My blood pressure.

He straps his velcro cuff to my bicep
and pumps it till I’m breathless.
You need to breathe more, he says.

On Thursdays the Doctor examines me
on all fours. He wears a white coat
with too-short sleeves. This is as big

as they come, he explains, shrugging,
making the sleeves shorter. His wrists
are great hairy chunks, and he wears no watch.

Time is nothing, says the Doctor.
He’s unconventional. Time is nowhere,
like a dead bird in a cave. Let’s take a look inside.

I’d never opened up before. The Doctor
has a scalpel. And I’m not afraid to use it,
he told me. He calls it his shark’s tooth.

The Doctor has a bite that dimples my arm,
leaves a mark like the fossil of a sprung jaw.
He slapped my face with his penis.

To get you going, he said. My heart is now
on red alert, apparently. If it stops,
he reminds me, you’re dead.



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