Jazz in the Park

The man on the left bear hugged his bass,
Plucking strings that seemed to have a hangover,
Heavy and sullen as they reluctantly vibrated:
Four strings that were four different shades of dreariness.

Meanwhile, the man on the right played his sax,
Curved like the tail of a happy, golden dog,
Its notes sounding like raunchy, dirty jokes
That made the bass seem even more cynical.

They took turns, the bass first complaining
About his lover, a flirty violin too busy
To spend time with him, always traveling
To concerts in Europe with handsome conductors.

The sax interjected with his quips,
Telling the bass to forget the violin:
There are so many instruments in the orchestra,
Single too like the flute and cello!

But the bass insisted the flute was too skinny,
And the cello had nice hips but was a slut,
Straddled by the suit pants of too many men
Who left her after each concerto for tinny wives.

The sax stopped the bass short,
Telling him to see the brassier side of things,
That it is spring and park benches are filled
With lovers and friends feeding squirrels and pigeons.

And everyone feels fortunate that it is warm again,
For they can sit on benches all day,
Eavesdropping on jazz, unaware it’s a secret language
Between two instruments quibbling about love.