I grew up in a town where the streets are paved straight, straight, then a small curve
And the after-rain glow is like the fuzzy state of waking up in the morning
When your eyes are still caked with sleep
But mostly the hot afternoon sun cracks the dulled black tar
Like freshly baked golden bread that crackles and crunches
My little house on the corner
Tall green spruce trees, but I couldn't climb those
Where were the reliable oak trees with numerous branches close to the ground?
Yellowed grass in the summer, bright green in the winter
The dirt always damp from the sprinklers in the early morning

I grew up in a town where summer lasts months and winter a week
The ever-present sun beating us down into an incessant pool of sweat
The faintly pungent smell of chlorine wafting through the air
I think I skinned my knee when I dove into the pool
Surprisingly, the sunsets are beautiful, though
The pink teasingly creeps up on blue and he shies away from her glow
And the sunsets aren't dull, oh no
They pour down the street until even the pavement is rosy

I grew up in a town where the nights are so black, they're blue
And a smattering of little diamonds lies upon the ink-blotted sky
The eloquent author of the night seducing the pink hues to bed
She complies dreamily and he envelops her in black
He is the fleeting poet-king
And honey, you should see him in a crown

I grew up in a town where either the houses are cookie-cutter
Pressed carefully in premade metal shapes
Or sprawling hacienda mansions with golden walls
The golden walls reflecting the shimmering waves of the pool

I grew up in a town where the sidewalks are never paved evenly
And I almost cut my ankle after biking straight over a bump in the concrete