Rigid Roads
My father liked a well-planned week
With mornings made to run on time.
We walked the same route, cheek to cheek,
And never questioned if it rhymed.
We’d come back home, the chores in tow,
With dinner talk and helping hands.
The evenings played out nice and slow,
A movie, then the bedtime plans.
I’m not quite sure if I approved,
But truthfully, I didn’t know.
It wasn’t something you removed—
You did, because that’s how things go.
And so I learned to carry on,
To tick the list and keep folks pleased.
But somewhere in that tidy song,
The joy in doing was released.
Now I’m relearning bit by bit,
Not everything needs to be right.
A softer rhythm starts to fit
And life feels just a bit more light.
Image Generated by ChatGPT - Rigid Roads
About this Poem
Rigid Roads explores the quiet influence of childhood structure and the subtle weight of routine passed down without question. It traces the early comfort (and eventual constriction) of a life lived by the clock, revealing how joy can be slowly edited out in the name of order. The poem finds its release not in rebellion, but in relearning: that softness, uncertainty, and lightness are just as valid as discipline.
