And maybe the feds did supply the hood with fireworks
And maybe the fireworks will scare the gentrifiers away
And maybe the gentrifiers will leave the hood
And maybe I’m a gentrifier
And maybe I hate to admit that
And maybe I’m not scared of fireworks
And maybe I will leave the hood for another hood
And maybe the hood be home
And maybe I don’t know where exactly is home
And maybe home is a mother
And maybe home has birds of paradise
And maybe home has a porch out front and a yard out back
And maybe home is a daughter
And maybe home is a cooing
And maybe home is a stoop out front and a walk-up
And maybe home is a fireworks show at 1am
And maybe a poem is a home