The spine gives up its saddest stories

I pay a man to manipulate me.

He lays out a sheet of clean tissue
cradles my head and says
from behind a Swiss moustache
have you had accidents before?

Oh yes, I want to say
I am the very devil for injury
I disguise myself
as a white line and live on the road.

I do not say this, I lie
prone in a curtain room
the William Tell overture
plays at quiet volume

his chest is warm on my back
my head is heavy in his hands
there are tiny clicks happening inside me
that even he doesn't know about:

the secret language of the spine.

Author unknown