#160 ‘The
teacher and the five young boys on a Friday after school’
The five young
boys came at sunset
with a broken
aluminium can
holding slowly
turning Witchetty Grubs
dug from the
roots of a bush
on a hill
outside the town.
They taste of butter, they said.
They taste of butter, they said.
David asked if
they had ever
eaten them raw.
They nodded.
Have you been
sick from them?
Never, they
said. Never.
He bit one’s
head off and chewed
the white mass,
nodding, yes,
butter and
cream.
The young boys
watched him eat it.
They agreed,
butter and cream.
They held those
grubs on their palms
as if they were
small, soft angels.
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