back ache

Nasser Hussain

 

Marionettes make me nervous. Their sys
tems are too visible, their slack crumple on
ly animate in the attention of
tension. I don’t waltz these days. The call

iope calls my name, but misspells it e
nough to make me clench. I want to see a
puppet show that unfolds, completely, slow,
on a sofa. A version of Godot,

with the option of watching the play o
ver the old maestro’s shoulder. Pay an ex
tra note, and you can brandish a pair of
brass snips. There was a whole year when each morn

ing was the screech of a stressed bedspring. I
was a dummy, a battery my tongue.