 scarecrow by richard biddle  i have come for my brains remarked the scarecrow uneasily my mouth was a painted grimace on a strawfilled potato sack i could not speak my words came from scraps and wasteland  rats feet over broken glass dust blew into my cracked eyes i could not cry sometimes i sagged on this pole like a stilled flag i was a windbeggar i could hold up my baghead if i chose but usually i stared down at my scuffed shoes one brown one black no laces pegged in place by bulldog clips they hang from my trousers like suicides empty glove hands flap no fingers what wouldn t i have given for a bone or a blackened tooth now my intestines itch madly were i human a tapeworm would be less irritating it s all kept inside with strong twine and a belt buckle these days i wish i d tear open let the crows peck me slack become a dishrag six weeks ago after i was given my reason they nailed me up here two sticks crossed and tied broken broom handles that s the biggest joke of all before when i was an earwig s nest these thoughts did not exist now i know what i am i m a sham a pest controller a bird scarer a dead man s sunday best and i m useless at it this is my last day on field duty they ve been building it for a week paper twigs unwanted furniture logs everything chopped and stacked piled up like a witch s hat it s all been dried out and dowsed in petrol sacrifice is too strong a word for it i m a device up there s a chair with three legs the coronation throne where later i ll receive my cardboard crown from tortured fool to murdered king in a flash oh how my new brains will burn issue 3 richard biddle 