Oracle of Beetlecrud
by Odin Roark

My parents remain an ever-vanishing wisp of black smoke,
but never really gone…I mean, gone, gone.

On my arrival here, they never invited me to their crypt,
or cloud, or wherever they hang now.
Guess that’s because back then, you know, in the light,
I was always rejected for being me.
Wasn’t easy being me, and that’s the truth.

Now?

Well, I see things differently now. Getting up at night,
instead of morning. That’s what the dead do, you know,
easier on the eyes. Have my evening drink of the stars,
actually more like lit-up snowflakes, and listen.
Maybe they’ll call for me. Maybe?

This?

Oh, just an old scarecrow frame.
Yeah, I know it looks like a cross.
Mine to bear, they told me, my parents made that clear.
So, I drag it around like they taught me. Oh, how they taught me.
Funny thing…if I lean it against a fence sometimes, well, ravens
love it. Maybe its mockery, eh? Kinda like that. Telling whoever
wants to listen…caw…caw…caw!

My mom, dear old mom, read the Bible every day. Every night.
Pop listened. I slipped away to my room,
especially for the night readings.

This hole in my head?

Oh, that. Well, I got turned on to Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, Sartre
and Camus. Great gang of bullet dodgers, you know. ‘Cept
I wasn’t that good. I mean, I’m no philosopher. I just slept with my
cocked gun on my pillow ‘til one night, I had this stupid dream,
and well…Mom and Pop said these guys ruined a good home.
I don’t know about that.

Blame the late night readings, if you want. Yeah, I kissed the barrel every night.
My mom always kissed her little cross.
We both slept like babies. Really.

Yeah, it is cool, isn’t it?

You can see straight through. Clean.

Don’t really know why I pulled the trigger. And sure as hell
don’t know why I continue to drag this clunky cross around, but…
maybe if I don what they say, “bear my cross” they’ll send me an
invite sometime.

Hey, you’re just wandering around, right?
Back in the yard, grave buddies are throwing a party.
Wanna come? No trouble at all.

Hey…watch your step!
Don’t wanna just step into the road, like that, ‘specially
with ol’ mummy on a bike delivery. Yeah…Pizza. Our go-to guy
for parties.

Yeah, he’s old, alright. Old, old. Into the mist, he’s peddling.
In a second or two, you’re gonna hear cusswords you’ve
Never heard before, ‘specially if he hits… yup…he hit one, again.
Potholes.

Ooh, that was a nasty trail of words, eh?

Hieroglyphics, you say?

Didn’t know that. You get around, don’t cha?

My name? Beetlecrud. Beetlecrud, my name.
I opted for Beetlejuice, but The Invisible Headstone Society
Said that one was taken. Some Hollywood dude.

This? You wanna carry this?
Shit, man. Be my guest. Been on my back forever.
You think I’ve earned a rest?
Nice of you to say so.

Heavy, ain’t it?

No?

So, you’re new around here, right?

Never got your name.

That’s okay. You’re right. Names can get you in trouble.
I usually don’t give mine out to strangers either.

You some strong dude.

And how do you keep that white robe so clean?