Gossip (Stream XVIII)

She squirreled away her gossip
Like round brown nuts
To be savoured later
To be pulled over
And inspected
With those aged friends
With nothing better to do
And too much time on wrinkled hands,
Clawed and arthritic.
Hands that have seen hard work,
Hard times.
That held children
Or caressed husbands long gone.
Heads bent close
Their hair monuments to the coiffure's art
Shades of pink and purple
Colour rinsed.
Rinsed out.
Heads nodding
They savour each tidbit
Pink tongues savouring its essence
Their hungry round mouths.
Gobble each morsel.
Pick over its bones
For this is all they have.

P H Brookes Copyright 2012.

poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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