Before climate change,
before child safety,
there was a boy
racing head-first
down the hillside
on the icy snow
with a crispy hum.
Before helicopter parents,
before helmets,
the boy piloted
a homemade sled
through local woodland
as if tackling
the Cresta Run.
Before stifling fears
about damaged brains
and busted bones,
the boy embraced
the snake-like turn
like he'd not ever
had more fun.
Before the current worry
over scarves caught
in sled runners,
the boy cannoned
into a tree trunk
as if blasted from
a high-caliber gun.
Before earnest doctors
issued solemn
media warnings
about collision risks,
the boy's crimson blood
dribbled onto the snow
as if his day was done.
But the scar on his jaw
still harks back to
a cheerier era
before cellphones
and paramedics . . .
when a boy flew as freely
as a stray missile
into the setting sun.