The mind, gentlemen, is a small midlands town, like Kettering Where they made corsets for years And the giant factory dominates the scene As you pass by on the train You especially notice the word CORSETS In the fine confident lettering of the period And although corsets are not required any more It still goes on producing them Because that is what it does, that is what it is.

The soul is quite a different town Whose name escapes me, further North, Where they made curtain-like material in large sheets That were hung out to dry in strips Long as the hair of a princess Long as cricket pitches From specially constructed high balconies Till the damp strips, like seaweed, congealed into linoleum Ready to hang over the moon In long rolls with beige stripes And Greek key patterns.

This poem is from The Hippocrates Prize 2011, published by The Hippocrates Prize in association with Top Edge Press.

©Miles Burrows. Another poem by Dr Burrows, ‘Why Did You Become a Doctor?’ was published in the Journal in May 2012.

Chosen by Femi Oyebode.