Before There Were Washing Machines

The women come in the morning
down the hill
bags over their shoulders
hips that had born children
mothers aunties daughters
careful with their steps.
Past the bars with the men
fortifying themselves with wine and coffee.
Past the church
where people fortify themselves with hope and faith
every Sunday.
Past the rock
where Saint Vincent preached to the sinners.
To the stone baths:
one for the soap
one for the rinse
one for the sick.
A week of washing
a week of 
stains sweat beans.
While scrubbing away the dirt
they speak
careful with their tongues
washing away quarrels with their neighbours
disagreements of their husbands
and insolence of their children.