Honesty – or – That Unexpected Bite

Written for Wea’ve Written Weekly. Our PoW
this week, Deanna, asks us to write a poem in
24 lines or less in any form by choosing an
abstract noun, making it concrete, and
answering the question ‘what does it
feel, sound, look, smell or taste like?’.

It comes in from the cold without knocking,
a farm dog with burrs in its coat and a torn ear,
and drops at your feet what you threw away:
wet, a little chewed, and still yours.

It smells of split wood and first snow,
of the kitchen at five, before the coffee,
before anyone has put on a face.

It tastes like a raw radish. Clean at first,
then a bite you didn’t bargain for,
then clean again.

Its voice is the floorboard on the third stair.
You can’t sneak past it to the room you want
without the whole house hearing.

It doesn’t dress up for dinner.
It wears yesterday’s flannel,
worn so thin at the elbows the light shows through.

Some nights it sits across the table,
says nothing, and holds your gaze
until the lie in your mouth goes stale
and you put it down like a fork.

It won’t flatter the overdone roast.
But when the power’s out and the road ices over,
it’s the one already outside with the shovel,
breathing white, waiting for you.

NAR©2026
#W3

This is “Honesty” by Billy Joel

W3 Prompt #237: Wea’ve Written Weekly

^{Everything on The Elephant’s Trunk was created by me, except where otherwise indicated, and may not be used without permission. Thanks for your consideration. NAR©2017-present.}