Schoolday over, classroom empty,
He stands up, sits down, then lies down exhausted.
Mouth parched, he reaches for his jar of sour wine.
Throat dry, he looks for his pot of foul tea.
He chews a bit of betel,
Takes four or five puffs on his pipe.
Anyone returning to his village can tell his wife
That while things aren’t good, he’s not desperate either.