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.
You can find this poem in — The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke.
Lived it. Beautiful! Grandparents are a gift! 🙏❤️
I know this poem well. What always gets me is the last couplet, the only two lines that rhyme in the whole poem. Is it harmony he is pointing at in the final lines?