American Express Parking Lot

[Brownlie]

Every day I pass a dust-becoming
Prophylactic,
grounding into asphalt like a dead leaf.
Spears of weeds break the sidewalk, 
and the automated teller collects greasy swaths.
Nobody stays there.

Leaving the office after the boss had gruffly dismissed me,
I placed two fingers above my head like horns,
charged a middle aged man with glasses,
turned to an ambling, contented crowd
and howled cockeyed that I would cut the hart horns off their heads.
It tore me that they were there, but maybe I could make them leave.