My dad taught me to waltz when I was about five. He sat down his glass of whiskey and the case file he had in his hand, and walked over to our little radio. After he found the right song, he grabbed my hands and sat me on his feet and hold me to hold on tightly.

My taught me how to waltz in our kitchen. It probably wasnt a good idea to dance in the kitchen. We made all the pans on the shelf fall off. My mom was mad at us, but we made such fools of ourself that she forgave us.

I forgot my dad had just got home from work. He fought with a suspect today. His knuckles was battered. I didn't mind. I didnt even care that my ear keep hitting his buckle. We was spending time with each other, and enjoying our time together. I was happy.

Again and again, we went around the kitchen. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. His bruised hands held on to mine, as he let me to bed. He fell asleep together on my bed, with the words "I love you Dad" hanging on my lips...


His breath smells like whiskey, as he locks me in our freezer. I feel dizzy, when he breaks the whiskey bottle over my head. I felt like dying. But I stayed. Camden will need me when he get's home.

He chased me into the kitchen. I slide into the cabinets. Things fell off the counters. I knew that if my mother was here she would have beat me too.

I showed him my grades, and as I turned to leave he grabbed my hands. His knuckles battered. No madder how much pleading I did, he scraped my back with his belt.

He made me stick to a schedule. If I was just a minute behind... To the freezer I go...

A/N

Hey guys! Again story name is the poem's name. Poem by Theodore Roethke.