I once ate chocolate-covered ants
my father picked up at a specialty
store in Kittery.
They didn’t look like ants
but like tiny chocolate remnants
like you’d find in the bottom of
a box of Goobers,
and they didn’t taste like gross ants,
but simply like chocolate,
but you know,
I gained some satisfaction
from knowing I’d eaten something
others found utterly disgusting.
I suppose that was the fun of it,
and, come to think of it, why now
I like to eat handfuls of chocolate
while watching horror movies
I know can’t pick me up and eat me.