JD Clapp

Mom and Dad, Fucking Never imagined them doing it Until I walked in on Them Drunk and Fifteen After some keg party Too pie-eyed to remember the Horror But the years sped by Bullet Train streaks On wet glass and The two that spawned me Faded painfully away Now I’m old But not yet slacked jawed And holding their ashes and That pile of bills they left And, I came to understand It all starts and ends with Someone getting Fucked.

Doggone John’s bones ached as he laid there, half asleep, ruminating over the death of his bird dog, Stella. Living on the farm his whole life, he’d breed and put down over a dozen dogs in his long lifetime. But Stella, his only true friend and confidant since his beloved wife Bess had died, was special. Bess had given him the pup for his birthday the year before the Lord took her from him.

I stood under the alcove next to the bar door and lit a grit. My mind ran through it. I’d driven all night and ditched the stolen car, an old tank of a Mercedes, on a fire road a mile or so from here. Nobody was gonna find it for a while, especially with the storm coming. I was 250 miles from the canyon I left Ellis, bleeding out on the cold dirt with his ball sack blown off.