Conversational Jam

That’s what we do, over lunch or dinner; a table for two, three, four or more. Our words, our intervals make music, unrehearsed. Call it conversation or call it improvisation. We jam. brass, bass and basoon. I can’t hear you. Muffled vibes. Sometimes words over each other. That reminds me of the time I… There goes a monologue, unzipped, a solo, saxing an amazement, a complaint, a plea. Digressing, Jammin'. Cymbals might clash, double reeds reconcile. Every time is never before. This ensemble. We riff. We say our piece. There's always room for the odd ball, the contrarian. Ornette Coleman dares in his wailing. Thelonious meanders down the river of his realm. We listen and hear our own instruments syncopating.

Men jam a different sound. Trumpets. Drum rolls. World War II reenacted again. Moving salt and pepper shakers around the way he surrounded the troops, the way you sank the winning basket. He percusses to persuade. Another toots his horn how he rebuilt his engine. Baritone sax like a jack-knifed big rig. That ain’t nothing, catch this trombone. Unstill the utensils. The Bird speaks a new language on tenor sax.

Women pass the Prosecco. piano and flute. Sweetmeats, anyone? Their strings pluck the drizzled salad. Sounds of how. Questions the bass asks up and down. Clarinet me more, do tell. Here’s a sidebar and the others hum and sway. It must be jelly ‘cause jam don’t shake like that. Take five. Cello me home.