I recognized my father in the very first line the first time I read this whirlingly memorable poem as a teenager. I also feel the presence of Morris Katz in the “palm caked hard by dirt.” Let’s embrace the full reality of our relationships with our fathers today.

My Papa’s Waltz

BY 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.