J.D. Clapp


My old man and his brother waited too long, too
Stubborn to let go imagined slights,
Two grand bruised egos, hubris, and
Mutual oceans of self-aggrandizement
Like it mattered enough to wait
Until their hands can’t grasp to shake, their
Four feet sea swell uncertain, their
Words slurred, minds mud-thick slow

And now they,

Talk of being boys
In a rowboat on Black
Lake and their old man
What a guy, and their mom
What a character, and Uncle Tony
Who I never knew because he died young
But was like me and what a guy,
And how they stopped for waffles on the way
With their nightcrawlers in a can
Of coffee grounds waiting
To catch sunfish off the dock
Under the big sky, on the best
Days of their shared lives.

And I listen, wondering, is this
My future slumping near slumber in those two chairs?
So unaware that nothing but those days
In that boat ever mattered a cunt hair in the bigger show.

JD Clapp is based in San Diego, CA. His poems have appeared in Roi Fainéant Press, Poverty House, Revolution John, Maya’s Micros/The Closed Eye Opened, Wasteland Review, Farewell Transmission, and the Remembering Charles Bukowski Anthology (Moonstone, 2023). His chapbook Underbelly:Grit Poems (Alien Buddha, 2024) was recently released.