2 poems
By Lucas Shepherd
Security Clearance
Let’s play that game called two truths
and a lie. No, let’s change it to two lies
and a truth because that ratio better reflects
our current milieu. The guy who invented
the lie detector also created Wonder Woman. Pass
these tests and receive your line badge.
Identify the number hidden within this cluster
of colorful circles. There are levels of
colorblindness just as there are levels of security
clearances. I’m a consumer—clearance
usually indicates a bargain. You only need the most
basic form of security clearance to gain
access to the flightline, but you still have to jump
a few hoops. To be perfectly candid, I bluffed
my way through the colorblind test. Shades give me
trouble, but there are only so many numbers
in existence, after all. Why not call it a truth detector?
Just kidding—we all know why.
“I, _____________”
state your name
I enlisted into fatherhood but never swore an oath. How does one
take a task seriously without swearing or affirming?
For the record, I decided to swear. If you’re going to the beach,
why stay on the shore? Our son was not a piece of flightline
equipment, so the amount of documentation surprised me. There
were safety regs and instruction manuals, specialty tools
and protective equipment. I even had to shave my beard so
it wouldn’t bristle his delicate skin. Not much has
changed, I thought. Everything has changed, I thought.
Lucas Shepherd
Lucas Shepherd's poetry has received two Pushcart Prize nominations, and his creative work has appeared in The Atlantic, Hobart, Hawai’i Pacific Review, and Midwestern Gothic. He served as a flightline mechanic in the United States Air Force from 2006-2010. Currently he teaches English in Tyler, Texas.