[Lance Levens]

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 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.



My Father's Dancing

de/composed from Roethke

Your whiskey-breath smelled strong
Which turned my stomach queasy;
I had to go along
Though that was far from easy.

We stomped around; pans slid
And crashed from the kitchen shelf;
My mother frowned, then hid
And said nothing herself.

Your grip betrayed one knuckle
Bashed out of shape and queer;
Each time you lurched, your buckle
Scraped straight across my ear.

You banged time on my head,
With a fist rough as a boulder,
Then hauled me up to bed
Still hanging off your shoulder.


Father's St. Vitus Dance

-re/de/composed from Roethke arhythmically

The whiskey that was on your breath
Made me feel dizzy;
Nevertheless, I hung on there like death:
This sort of waltz wasn't easy.

As we romped, pans
Would slide off the top shelf;
My mom's countenance
Made one unchanged frown of itself.

The hand holding my wrist
Had a bent knuckle:
Whenever a footstep was missed
My right ear got scraped on a buckle.

You beat the time on top of my head
With one palm's caked dirt,
Then waltzed me straight off to my own bed;
I, meanwhile, clung to your shirt.