sandpaper kisses

the table is a black sky
the grown-ups’ legs
tall trees swaying and leaning

there’s a sharp clack
then silence rolling
like the unseen balls above
then clack clack
a soft plop
the balls drop
i scamper
to push them back
up from the grey sock
to the hard green

later
my pop is in his big chair
he says, “put it there, pal.”
and i climb into his lap
enter the smoke haze
and kiss him
on the cheek
sandpaper
against a baby’s bottom