Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!
My Papa's Waltz

The whiskey on your 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 countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped 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.

    --Theodore Roethke
    Submitted by Nancy Patterson

Return to Index