Thursday, July 23, 2009

Sandpaper Kisses

I have come across some comments on other sites where this poem is posted that it reflects some sort of abuse or inappropriate touching. I hadn't thought of anyone applying that meaning to it. This is a fond memory of my grandfather. There is nothing untoward or abusive in anyway implied. I hope it will bring back some fond memory for you the reader. Enjoy

He would reach out for me
draw me into his giant arms
pull my pretzeled body close
tickling, laughing, hugging dance.
My writhing little body caught
“Grandpa’s got you, you can’t
get away.” Then his deep
throaty laugh rang through the house.
I’d squiggle, wiggle, squealing
pain and glee. “Let me go,
let me go, no grandpa
not the whiskers please.”
A five o’clock cheek to my
delicate skin, he raked his tough
stubble till I cried “Grandma come help.”
She would walk in, wiping her hands.
“Paul, let that child be.” He quickly
released as I rolled to the floor.
I’d jump to my feet teasing
Grandpa can’t get me.”
taunting - out of his reach.
He seemed to ignore while he plotted,
waiting a moment - surprise attack,
Grabbing and planting sandpaper kisses,
lips chewing my neck, fingers tickling
my wiggling, struggling frame
while he whiskered again.
“Grandma, Grandma help me.”
“Not this time she’d laugh.
You deserve what you get.”