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 romped¹ until the pans

　　Slid from the kitchen shelf；

　　My mother's countenance²

　　Could not unfrown itself.

　　The hand that held my wrist

　　Was battered³ on one knuckle⁴；

　　At every step you missed

　　My right ear scraped a buckle⁵.

　　You beat time on my head

　　With a palm caked hard by dirt，

　　Then waltzed me off to bed

　　Still clinging to your shirt.