Another useless notification in your neighborhood
/Alicia Swain
Fireworks or gunshots?
I heard a loud
pop, pop—
do you think they’ll stop?
I’ve got children sleeping,
my husband can’t hear
the same movie he’s seen only
seven times since he was sixteen.
Fireworks or gunshots?
A sixteen-year-old died last night.
Wish they’d make the violence stop
so that I can sleep, enjoy peace,
invite over friends without it being
embarrassing. I’ll never know who
it could be, not in reality, but I worry
how it affects me. This pop, pop, pop
doesn’t match my farmhouse aesthetic,
it threatens the sanctity of my patio,
disrupts my sweet sips of prosecco
as I pop the cork under plastic ivy leaves
adorning a perfectly selected canopy.
I think I heard gunshots,
maybe ten shots, maybe two shots,
maybe
it wasn’t after seven o’clock so not
likely to be fireworks, can you
stop the pop I can’t focus on my doting,
I can’t be interrupted while I tie ribbons
in my daughter’s hair, never mind
a young man lies cold, a ribbon tied
around his toe—where are those labels?
I bought them last year, the little name tags
with depictions of cardinals sitting in the snow.
They really pop—
Did you hear gunshots
coming from the east?
I’m tired of this neighborhood I moved to
last week, bought this newly renovated bungalow
for super cheap, I hope it sparks some change—
seems like the rent keeps going up. I think
I can make a difference here, unlike the neighborhoods
they gentrified over the last few years.
Fireworks or gunshots?
There’s a body in the street, a mother
feels a pang in her chest reading the same post
every week. Fireworks or gunshots?
But never was that my son? What a privilege
to never cower, to never fear, to only wonder
whether to call the cops and not
your brother,
your cousin,
your daughter,
your lover,
your neighbor,
pop, pop, pop.
Author’s Note: This poem was inspired by Ring's Neighbors app. Night after night, people flood the app with the same post: fireworks or gunshots? These posts become routine, and the rounds heard in the night seldom lead to meaningful discourse as users grow desensitized—each post nothing more than another useless notification in your neighborhood.
Alicia Swain is a feminist poet and author living in Richmond, VA. Her debut poetry collection, Steel Slides and Yellow Walls, released in August of 2025 with Belle Isle Books. Her work appears in publications such as The Vehicle, Half and One, and The Closed Eye Open. She can be found on her website at https://aliciaswain.com/, on Bluesky as @aliciamswain.bsky.social, and on Instagram as @aliciamswain.
