the prelude never ends
that fractal chaos before the beginning
as dishes clang like cymbals
knives and forks and spoons
play percussion and brass
to laughing operatic voices
chattering, lilting  sing-song
lift small town talk to virtuoso heights
while the door plays chimes
in time with a jealous register
feet shuffle as brushes on the drums
beneath the woodwind woosh of air conditioner
all a blend with metronome keystrokes
soft under the radio’s keen direction
unseen conductor waving her FM baton
coaxing Pat Benatar to remind the orchestra
that “we are young – heartache to heartache”
and the coffee-fueled music never ends
though the players come and go
it is life – a free form jazz composition
beneath the spinning fans
bidding us to lend our voices
for a moment…