I saw my first rhino
in Chapultepec Park, old Aztec
Bruckner’s Second Symphony
& Maximiliano’s palace,
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.
Bent old Yanquis with newspapers
sit in Cuernavaca’s three squares,
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.
- Bowering, George. “Summer 1964. Mexico.” Canadian Literature 142-143 (1994): 182. Print. (Link)