Their morning ablutions over
A few oldies squatted
Near a mound of dung
Mixed a little saw dust
And patted them into pancakes
To be baked by the sun
Praises and complaints
Exchanged in good measure
Their first contribution
To the day’s gossip
A line of pots
Awaited at the water tap
Owners clustered around
Making friends and enemies
Gossip of families and movies
Discussed and disembowelled
Minds reeling
Under the onslaught of the trivial
Ears and pots overflowing
They swayed home.