The leaf, yellow as a New York taxi,
Dangles from the tall oak wavering
In the gentle breeze of an autumn afternoon.
I ask my valet to get my car.
“Please,”
I want to be alone with my thoughts.

I peer out the window of my car to see
the leaf blowing in the wind.
When the breeze picks up
just enough to blow the blonde hair
of the lady walking on the street.
She has two perfect scoops of vanilla
on her chest.
The leaf is plucked off its branch.

It falls slowly, rocking side to side
like a ship, back and forth,
until it hits the ground.
My thoughts spin around,
and I am the yellow leaf,
falling to the ground,
only valued for the brief time I have.