It's Still Life

Brushed Off

This was his landscape,
that young boy who played the streets,
whistled tunes and ran barefoot.
Happy ignorance,
his laughing days, each morning
caution raced him hand in hand.
And he brushed off death
when he took to chasing trains,
that young boy who walked the tracks,
always laughing, tempting fate.

poetic form: Choka (5.7.7+7). written for Miz Quickly’s “Brush” prompt and dVerse’ “Pub Form”