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Theodore Roethke - My Papa`s Waltz
Work rating: High

	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.
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