I walk my brand new yellow motorcycle towards the end of the driveway,

watching it gleam with the warm, yellow rays of the sun;

 

and I ponder upon the savory sunny-side-up egg yolk from breakfast,

the melted mozzarella cheese, tasty mustard spread and

the creamy yellow banana smoothie;

of mama cutting yellow peppers and yellow onions,

and how the sweet acid teared up her eyes;

 

and I recollect the comforting summer days

when no more yellow school buses would come at 7:15 in the morning

and how I would pick dazzling yellow daisies,

chase bumblebees, blow dandelions, and

marvel at the staring sunflowers that always look toward the ever-shining sun,

never turning away from their yellow brick road;

 

and I reflect upon the streetlights at night,

the barefaced yield signs and striking yellow headlights,

and of the bright yellow road markers

designed to keep us on our yellow brick road;

 

and I think of yellow highlighters

and how they mark occasional sentences with their bold, sure stroke;

of yellow post-its that cover my desk with their clear-cut messages.

 

and then I remember the yellow helmet on my head

and step on the warm footrest as I twist the ever-ready throttle back,

roaring away into the yellow, yellow world on my yellow, yellow motorcycle.