Shoes Poem by Marcus Smith Poetry

One shoe lying in the street.
Two tossed on the crosswalk.
More shoes leading to the bridge.
A path, a pattern, a confetti
of lost, removed, discarded shoes -
old pumps, new flats, heels, trainers,
shoes with names, shoes I can't name,
shoes made for the future, shoes soon
from the past, shoes like spring petals,
broken canes, cracked bones, shoes
wrinkled as skin, buckles twisted, straps
torn and snapped, tongues dried up,
shoes heading to the tunnel, marching
across the square, strolling around
the arcades, pausing along the esplanades,
running and darting and scuffling
through an alley to a dead-end pile
of shoes. Someone there, in shoes,
looks back as if to find where they are -
barefoot people - and follows
a fading footfall down the ramp
to a river of shoes carried away.

Interpteter's House