Theodore Roethke(1908–1963)
My Papa's Waltz
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I h u n g on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's c o u n t e n a n c e
Could not unfrown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
T h e n waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.