Partytime With 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 and listen.
Maybe they'll call for me. Maybe?

This?

Oh, just an old scarecrow frame.
Yeah, I know it looks like a battered 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 its cold barrel every night.
My mom always kissed her little cross.
We both slept like babies. Really.

Yeah, my hole is cool, isn't it?

You can see straight through. Clean.

Don't really know why I pulled the trigger. And I sure as hell
don't know why I continue to drag this clunky scarecrow thing around, but...
maybe if I do what they said was my destiny, "bear your cross, son" they'll send me an
invite sometime.

So… You’re a strange lookin’ dude. Beard’s a trip.

Yeah, I'm just wandering around, why?
You’re kiddin’ me. Back in the yard, grave buddies are throwing a party.
I’m in.

You’re some kind of caregiver, aren’t ya?
Sure, I’ll watch my step!
You’re probably right. Don't wanna just step into the road, like that, ‘specially
with, what’s his name, “Ol' mummy?” On a bike delivery is he. Pizza? New York style. You got your own greasy go-to guy for parties?”

You said it. He’s old, alright. Old, old. Into the mist, he's peddling. Cusswords? Yeah, I’ve been known to utter a few. In a second or two, I’m gonna hear a few I’ve never heard before…‘specially if he hits a pothole... Oh, shit. He hit one. Damn, that’s gotta mess up his package, ya think? Wow…never heard those before.

A nasty trail of words, eh?

Hieroglyphics, you say?

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

My name? Beetlecrud. Distant cousin to that Beetleguy of Tim Burton. Ya know him? I opted for Beetlejuice the 2nd, but The Invisible Headstone Society
said I would be messin’ with copyright infringement. Hollywood!

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 visit these parts often?

All the time? Funny. 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’re some strong dude. You stay in shape, eh? Trainin’?

You must have some secret for keepin’ that white robe so clean?

Is it my imagination, or does it glow?