Jon Horton
Jackson Hole Mysteries
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Leaving Mexico

Another goodbye

Down from the Mixteca Alta
morning air turpentined by the pines
bus running 'round the corners
under power
passing trucks blind
we're running
running north to the city of Mexico

Boca de Perro passes
where robbers of colonial stages
sat in the shade
their horses stomping at flies
waiting fearless waiting

Social bandits rode from here
with imperial money
and bought all the corn at Saturday market
down the road in Tlaxiaco

Two men
only this month in my own life
and under my own eyes
joined the robbers’ continuum—
dropped their lifeless guns
and lay down in the pine duff
by Boca de Perro
to choke their lives onto the ground

poor as Mexico gets
with blasted streets and peeling walls
the reek of warehoused dope
the fragrance of Pollo ala Parilla for the nose
flies for the eyes
borrachitos with their withered dicks
draped from their pants
pass the pulque
grin and stagger and wave

Viva Mexico!

I am leaving the high country
down and down in the rackety bus
sweeping through curves
using up all the road
shaking my head at hillocks of glass
and great stains of oil
more tears in a land awash in tears

Down from the piney forests
down past the boojum tree and organ pipe
down through the canyon of Tamazulapan
past Huajuapan de Leon
to groves of nopal and fields of atun
away from the cool air and onto the plain
running past volcanos
to the city that waits

Where my plane waits

Saludos amigos
me voy

A regresamos promese el corazon

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Jon Horton

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