Footprints, a Poem by JP Lorence

Updated: Feb 25

For the collection: 'Life in the time of #COVID'

Footprints - Prose Poem

The sidewalk is an empty wasteland.


Yesterday it teemed with life, with love, with laughter, with hatred, with noise. Today it's empty cubic feet of air. And me.


Everyone that was here yesterday is locked in a box nailed shut with fear. I know they can see me through their windows.


But I can still see their footprints out here. A sneaker track in the mud, a dashed cigarette butt, a beer can by the trash. Looks like they all just left five minutes ago.


That guy panhandling by the liquor store? His cardboard sign is still here. The grocer moving trays of produce outside his store? He lost an orange. That guy that got beat up on the corner of Second Ave? The Russet colored stains are still visible.


But not the guys sleeping in bags under the canopy at the convenience store. They are home, they have nowhere to retreat to. I guess its just me and them now.


A bunch of cigars smoking in ashtrays, and a guy with a notebook. I wonder what will come of this.




 

JP Lorence is a spoken word artist and published science fiction writer living in Vancouver, Canada. Previously, he has been published by 'New Lit Salon', 'Off Topic Press', and 'Grey Borders', along with a few others.