There's no white left

It is all grey

all brown

The white is pockmarked

By the partially melted

snow in the streets

Splattered on to it

like hot oil onto a hand

In some places it is worn away

like an old shoe

carried by many feet

on a journey to nowhere

There is evidence though

The footprints are a testimony

The field may be empty

but the evidence is there

The journey was taken

Even though there’s no white left