Urgent - I need Imput!

I'm supposed to write a free verse poem for my Creative Writing class. I chose to use the way I felt when we first moved to Glendale, an area of Salt Lake City. Compared to Kaysville, Salt Lake seemed super scary. So my imagination ran wild sometimes. Anyways, so I've written two poems, and I really don't feel super confident about either. I like what I am trying to convey (I'm not scared of Glendale anymore, by the way) but I don't know if I put it on paper well.

Please read the poems and give me some comments. Do you like one of them more than the other? Why? What parts did you like or dislike? My class is Monday night, so I'm just scrambling for advice. Thanks in advance. Writing for a grade is intense.

Poem #1

At night
I hear a car driving by.
Drive by?
He is going fast and loud,
And my shoulders feel tight.
So I see
An explosion of glass,
Covering the room;
And I hear
Pop pop of a gun outside,
My child cries for me,
Tires squeal away.
I step away from the window,
The large square pane still whole.
I touch the glass and it’s cold.
I pray a little.

Near noon
I hear a siren.
Does it sound close?
It echoes down the swamp cooler
Into my home.
Into my home?
The wail gets fast and loud,
And my neck feels tense.
So I see
A rough-faced man,
Running toward my home.
And I hear
His heavy breathing,
The door hitting the wall,
Hushed urgency.
I run to the front door,
The heavy painted wood stands closed.
I lock it once, twice,
And I close the curtains tight.

Poem #2

If I hear a car at night,
Driving loud and fast near my home,
Full of people I have never met,
I assume the worst:
It’s a gang,
A drive-by
They are going to shoot us.
In my brain I can hear
Them laughing,
Shooting a gun,
Exploding the glass in my front window.
I feel very tight,
Like if I just hold my breath
Maybe they will pass us by.
I check the window;
The pane is cold but whole.
This time it wasn’t me.

Every siren that I hear,
Echoing down the swamp cooler,
Weaving in and out of my ear,
Means someone is in trouble.
I feel the trouble coming:
A criminal,
Running from the police,
Into my home.
And I can see
His darkened eyes,
The gun in his hand,
My fear
And the tremble of my children.
I run to lock the door
Both locks
And I carefully glance through the peep hole.
No one is coming today.

I heard that a neighbor lost two dogs
In the middle of the night,
Pure bread bloodhounds,
Who haven’t come back.
There’s graffiti on the elementary school wall,
Letters that I don’t understand,
Put there by someone I have never met.
But we’ve been here for a year
And it still hasn’t been us.
Not our window, our door, our home.
Not yet.

(Really, Mom and Dad, I'm not scared of Glendale anymore. I don't want these poems to freak you out, k?)