The wisky on you breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's coutenance
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
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.
abigail phillips
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-papa-s-waltz-by-theodore-roethke/
