Walking in the rain

My father told me not to walk in the rain
I didn’t listen. Yesterday I walked (but not too far), but nevertheless,
I disobeyed and paid.   I have a cold.
I remember him when he wasn’t old with a razor strap around his neck,
"Eat your peas and carrots, please."
Somehow the please and the strap confused me, 
a conundrum of sorts, his weapon of love.
You can’t beat it into a kid.
I hid mostly undercover in my room in bed
listening to him walking 
down the hall, through my wall.
"His razor strap of heresy" masked by the pungent odor
 of parmesan cheese,
my mother on hands and knees cleaning up his mess I guess
after he left.  My brother’s release from the strap that binds
love and hate in one heart.
I cupped my ears at night back then, stayed as quiet as I could have been
unlike my brothers or my mother.
I don’t remember much else, or nothing that I cherish
or anything that helped me flourish except maybe the lesson 
I learned."Don’t ever walk in the rain, he said."  
back then, and yesterday
so there doesn't seem much more to say today 
except my father is old, and I have a cold.

ldn