Ode to D. F.

Hello Mexico City!
La Ciudad de Los Angeles?
Oh wait, that's Los Angeles.
I remember you, D.F.
Being amazed at your velocity,
The way you managed to maintain
that old world feel
in a metropolis of speed.
But I wonder
If you remember me.
I'm that lonely presence
that spent Sundays
listening to The Beatles,
All You Need,
As I walked from UNAM
to the hipster, anti-fresa
hangout, where tourists
bought Xicano tee's
and Aztec objects.
I walked with Los Beatles
and stared, sometimes spoke
to a European exile
but mostly looked and looked
hoping to see friend or family member.
I didn't ask much of you
and maybe that was the problem.
You wanted me to want you
to be wrapped in your passions
your people.
I liked your museums
and the metro, I adored.
Xochimilco flowered me
with a Mother's warmth.
But I ignored your narrow streets,
where one had to go deep,
to see.
That I didn't see,
that's why I cried.
I cried for home.
For mi lengua nativa,
mi familia, comunidad.
Mexico City, you made me
feel alone, depressed.
Or did you?
I'm sorry I left in such a scramble.
I didn't say goodbye
and hoped you'd understand.
I wanted to let you know,
It wasn't you, but me.
I do miss thee, Me hi co
but don't know if you feel the same.
Que rica problem.
Perhaps you never cared,
That's what scares me.