My Papa's Waltz- 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