Most people eat chocolate for kicks, whether it’s peanuts in Snickers™ or even nibs, & not to get their nuts & ass kicked – which this does & then some. NGL, better than Ex-Lax™, it's Choc-Lax. So to correct any false impressions of shrewish, displaced aggression stemming from parental abuse, here’s a revision of some ‘blogilicious’ by Diane Lockward featured on Garrison Keillor’s Writer’s Almanac:

Nibbles
Jet-brown & silvery bloom,
undersized runt of a fruit,
like something failed to thrive, dented all about,
& lopsided too. An intemperate zone.
Tiny paradox, tart or bitter & sweet, frumpy
even humble, afloat in sugar ‘n cream,
baked in a cake, a cookie, a muffin.
But the power of brown. #1 antioxidant,
bantam-weight champ in the fight against
infections, best lead actor
in the food & drug wars. No peeling, coring, or cutting;
the nibs laid out on a counter, strands of brown nuggas

Pop 1x, like M&M's, melts deep in your mouth
Never in your hands, on a glutton-stuffed tongue,
lips & chin dyed brown, as if feasting on... well, chocolate.
The planet fruit of Earth,
& favorite of mothers everywhere.
Sundays she dropped them into pancake batter,
poured circles onto the hot greased griddle, sizzled
them golden brown, drizzled naturally with maple syrup.
This is what I want to remember: Mom
and me, she in quilted robe to my wrinkled jammies,
that kitchen, that table,
plates stacked high with johnnycakes, chocolate chips glistening
gemstone studs in a gold mine,
the universe in reverse,
just the 2 of us...
sharing chocolate pancakes