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.       

By Chris Russell

Chris Russell’s poems have appeared in Mouse Tales Press, The Cafe Review, The Poet's Touchstone, Centripetal and Slope Magazine. He holds an MFA in Writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts, and lives in Concord, New Hampshire where, when not writing, drawing, or playing video games, he follows a calling as a Special Education Paraprofessional.