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.