Marietta McGregor

No Use Crying

The government school milk ration is launched the year I start school. Every morning early the milkman drops it off by the back wall in our schoolyard. A third of a pint for every kid. Calcium for our bones, protein so we don’t get rickets. The unhomogenised milk in its clear glass bottles sits in crates under a watery sun until classes spill out into the playground at mid-morning. By then, the cream has floated to the top, the milk has started to thicken and the aluminium caps on the bottles bulge.

recess bell
the funky smells
of fourth grade

One day I open a bottle of milk someone shoved to the back of the crate. The bottle whuffs a weary sigh when I pop the top. Something wriggles. I throw the bottle, hard. It smashes against the fence, splashing curdled milk and sallow crawly things. The grade 5 kids cackle. They’ve seen maggoty milk before. Next day, I gag when we get our milk ration. It’s warm and creamy. Worried about rickets, I make myself drink it.

every night
her prayer
for a sick note

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About the Author

Marietta McGregor is a former science writer from Canberra, Australia. Her haiku, haibun, and haiga appear in international journals and anthologies and on Japanese television.