Metrical Friday: My Papa’s Waltz

My Papa’s Waltz
By Theodore Roethke

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 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.

2 Responses

  1. Gram e
    Gram e at | | Reply

    Is the above one of your creations or one you like ? Regardless it is nice. Do you remember dancing on either of your Mom or Dad’s feet ? I do….

  2. Rich Blank
    Rich Blank at | | Reply

    From a father’s perspective, one of the most depressing things I’ve read in a long time.

    “sobering” . . .

Leave a Reply