The grid

These streets I grew up on are growing more and more forgotten
No new neighbors other than momentary newlyweds
Wives whose husbands have promised, "When we have more money we'll get out of here"
Every little kid down the street was promised a bigger house on the better side of town one day
And one by one they moved out
As my father added on to our tiny home himself, only able to afford the lumber and supplies
We stayed. And we've been here ever since.