Making Use of Your Eviction Notice

You never fixed the door. It hung on one hinge for the entire four years I lived in this pit. Every time a storm came it banged and banged and banged, spooky drums of the damned. On summer days it squeeked and groaned, a rusty mockery and a reminder of the impotence of my repeated complaints.

When the pipe broke I called right away. It was raining in my living room. My late grandmother’s painting was ruined. So was my TV. You showed up in an instant to turn the water off. Then I waited six days with no shower or toilet, buying drinking water at the grocery store and hoping to see the promised repair van arrive soon. You did not offer to replace my belongings.

The virus hit. Apparently I am a non-essential worker. I asked if I could pay the rent late, for the first time in four years. I told you my mom was willing to mail me a check to help out. Surprise registered on your face. I wasn’t sure if you were surprised I had a mother, or that my mother was willing to help me. Yes, black men have mothers, too.

You gave me 24 hours to vacate. You sent this eviction notice. The stores are out of toilet paper. This will do.