1
just a stone’s throw
from the gates to our village
is the washing place
at that secluded turn of the river
with scattered rocks
rocks some giant children of times long ago
must have played with and thrown about
as our own children
scatter sand about in the open grounds


2
and here at the washing place
here the young mother
sits on a rock
and plaits her hair
with her infant by her side;
and perhaps two women
wash and beat some clothes
and opposite, another
does her share of the work
her lower garments
rolled up to above her knees
and she wrings the clothes,
washes and wrings the clothes

And above, on the highest rock,
above on the rock lies our Village Pervert
always ready, always hiding
peeping down at the women as they work
Oh, our Village Pervert –
what shall we do with him?
we’ve thrown stones at him
the village kids spit at him
the men put him into the water
for over half an hour
the Village Elders have counseled him
and he has been refused food
and his parents have driven him out of home
But still he will not change
and he will be there on the rock
always eager to watch the women at work
always just a look at white flesh of an arm or leg
*Oh, what shall we do, what shall we do
with our Village Pervert?