Idle Streetlights

Sunday leaned on the window I could name every fence

Past the cul-de-sac where the map gave up

We raced our bikes through sprinkler rain

My father waited with the porch screen shut

My mother called my middle name

I thought the summer had a bottom I thought the road would

hold its shape

Dead-end streets, you raised me gentle

Then you taught me how to leave

All those houses kept their windows

Like old hands folded over me

I was young enough to trust them

Now I know what wanting means

The yards got smaller when I came back grown

The mailboxes leaned like tired men

We swore we'd burn out past the county road

But most of us just circled in

Someone's brother sold the old blue car Someone's mother couldn't sleep again

Dead-end streets, you raised me gentle

Then you taught me how to leave

All those houses kept their windows

Like old hands folded over me

If I pass them in the morning

They still look away from me

We learned the sirens by their distance

We learned whose porch light meant come home

I keep a key that fits no door now

I keep a number in my phone

Dead-end streets, don't take it personal

I only left because I could

Every corner has a weather

Every window knew I would

Keep me small inside your picture

Keep me almost understood

Afternoon thins to amber

The lawns go quiet and wide

Parents wait in the kitchens

For children already outside (ooh) (ahhhh)