I saw my first rhino
in Chapultepec Park, old Aztec
forest.
Bruckner’s Second Symphony
& Maximiliano’s palace,
never quite
been in Europe, I,
sit on a hill of forest
& see all Mexico City, all Carlota
Max in Mex would die, never
go back to Trieste.
You dwell in your father’s house,
the gold-wrought porches of Zeus,
apart in the depth of space.
2.
Bent old Yanquis with newspapers
sit in Cuernavaca’s three squares,
persistent
boys with Chiclets harass the newcomers,
a lovely park surrounded by wall-spilled buganvilla
lies green, waits for afternoon rain
to clean the dust, make a green place
for a strange African animal.
Works Cited
- Bowering, George. “Summer 1964. Mexico.” Canadian Literature 142-143 (1994): 182. Print. (Link)
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