A handful of ants is a soothing thing.
Some ice cream that fell on the sidewalk
Has gathered a huge swarm of ants.
I scoop up a handful.
Each small as a sand grain, yet I baulk
And think of them under my pants.
Reflexes I conquer.
Once held, they are soothing, as I knew
From each time I’d held them before.
I pick them up often.
Yet instinct still fights what I oft do
Ignoring experience’s lore
Why is it so strong?