Poem (The Day Gets Slowly Started)
–James SchuylerThe day gets slowly started.A rap at the bedroom door,bitter coffee, hot cereal, juicethe color of sun whichisn’t out this morning. Acool shower, a shave, soothingNoxzema for razor burn. A bedis made. The paper doesn’t comeuntil twelve or one. A gray shineout the windows. “No oneleaves the building untilthose scissors are returned.”It’s that kind of a place.Nonetheless, I’ve seen worse.The worried gray is meltinginto sunlight. I wish I’dbrought my book of enlighteningliterary essays. I wish itwere lunch time. I wish I hadan appetite. The day agreeswith me better than it did, or,better, I agree with it. I’llslide down a sunslip yet, thiscrass September morning.