México, ven por tu gente
Or The Poetry Of John Ashbery
by Quetzalcoatl Sandoval

I arrived at the Columbia auditorium about forty minutes early
to make sure I got a good seat to hear the imminent and foremost
American poet John Ashbery. He has published over a thousand
books of poetry, each totally different from the previous one. Quite
an accomplishment in such a paltry century. The crowd of sixteen
finally started gathering and was seated anxiously awaiting the
arrival of the great man. He was finally introduced by a mousy
fellow who poured on the honey as we say in Mexico. It was not
an impressive reading, but still well worth the trip north. Yet, I
was not ready to see such a niggardly audience turnout, especially
in a city of millions. Of course, America is mostly devoid of true
Americans as most of New York is composed of immigrants and
mostly of a lowly lot. I got my books autographed and then I
proceeded to walk to my hotel, getting mugged (and not by 10
year old homeless kids like back home) once, well, twice, but the
second time I had nothing of value and the ungrateful mulatto
refused to take my autographed copies of John Ashbery books.