Crisp

I've always been the first
to fall, and through my falling, others
look clasped and safe.

I fall to the cold street,
cars sloshing puddle waters on
my brittle edges, before
the wind hurls me the way it does
all things that don't belong.

The mustard lights of the city
chews me and spits me out.

I don't weigh much but I'm so heavy
I'm always the first to fall.