W3 Prompt #151: Wea’ve Written Weekly

https://skepticskaddish.com/2025/03/19/w3-prompt-151-weave-written-weekly/

The Challenge

Write a poem that feels like it’s almost something—but not quite. A love poem that sidesteps romance. A haiku that’s one syllable off. A sonnet that forgets itself halfway through. A metaphor that teeters on the edge of making sense.

Rules

  • Embrace the near miss. Let the poem be beautifully incomplete, deliberately offbeat, or playfully imperfect.
  • You can choose any form, but it must almost follow the rules. A villanelle with one missing refrain? A limerick that forgets to rhyme? A free-verse piece that wants to be a haiku? Go wild.
  • Bonus challenge: Use the phrase “but then—” somewhere in your poem.

Why?

Because sometimes, what’s left unsaid is what lingers the longest.

I’m not sure if this fits the challenge but I will post it anyways. The rules seem to be quite broad.

The Job

It all started out like one other day
Get on to work when I’d rather just stay
Here in my bed in the dark and the warm
Not liking my customers and the way that they swarm

But then as if someone magically said
“Get up you old bum, get out of bed”
I felt a big rush of energy and joy
Like a freshly put battery in a newly bought toy

I dressed in my best, as its all that I had
Being too cheap to buy other clothes
I hated to shop for myself and buy anything new
I felt it was a waste when I worked everyday.

But I straightened my shirt and twisted my tie
I looked like a stand-up, polite kind of guy
I thought I looked sharp, sharp enough for a girl
If she asked me to dinner I might give it a whirl

I headed to work where my boss, he was late
He must’ve been out with that girl on a date
‘Cause he came in real happy, like a pig in some shit
I really despised him, didn’t like one damn bit

He told me I’m fired, that I should go home
It’s like sending a pharaoh away to his tomb
I packed up my stuff and looked away now in shame
I should have just called him correctly by name

It all came right back to me just like a punch
No more low wages, no more short lunch
I’d have to go back to my other old job
So I left with a sneer and soft, muffled sob

©CBialczak 2025

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