is, at least, an elegant, ladylike affliction,

advancing, as the medical books will tell you,

in a ‘stocking and glove’ formation, and although

the burning's a bit much in summer, by winter

toes are colder and number – more numb,

not more numerous. Ambiguity is odious,

never mind the threat of slurred words in a year or two,

myclonic jerks that shake or nod the head, raise an arm,

making you a dunce without an answer, not to mention

'steppage gait' with each flapping foot snapped forward

under a high knee and planted flat – a bit like Basil Fawlty

but not as funny.

You may ask yourself what you've done to deserve nerves

that die back, shrivelling like wicks that fell into wax

or dud fuses at Guy Fawkes', disappointing the kids,

but whether you're diabetic, alcoholic or just plain

idiopathic, the fact remains you've got these new

accessories for life, no matter how clean-living you are

in retrospect. Your tee-total, low-glucose, gluten-free

diet will only make you look trimmer in your small fibre

stockings and gloves – accoutrements that now come

in two striking colours: hyperaemic red and cyanotic blue,

hues changing with the seasons and, sometimes, with the hours.

Usually, when it least suits you.

Johanna Emeney lives and works in New Zealand. Her first collection of poems, ‘Apple & Tree’, has been published by Cape Catley. This poem is from The Hippocrates Prize 2011, published by The Hippocrates Prize in association with Top Edge Press. © Johanna Emeney.

Chosen by Femi Oyebode.