This was another reading from *The Difference is Spreading* anthology I've been working through. Although I've encountered this poem before, it was nice to meet again and to read the commentary provided by Marjorie Perloff.
Perloff's commentary begins:
"The opening line of this characteristically untitled poem is immediately arresting in its absurdity. Why is a windy September morning (in fact, September 17, 1959), on which the poem's speaker is preoccupied with his personal relationships in his very particular art circle, the right (or wrong) day for Nikita Khrushchev to arrive in New York?"
I'd add, too, that the opening line is not just "arresting in its absurdity," but also compelling in its mystery --- just off enough, just opaque enough to compel the reader to read on to the next line, and the next, to try and make some sense of it.