Eviction Notice

It didn’t used to always be this way.


Life was full of love happiness and together… the stuff every child needs.


We’d spend our summers drifting down East Broadway, in search of new lands.


Columbuses on bicycles, conquerors of no one but our physical limitations


I’m surprised I never got a flat


Dad worked nights, mom during the day. Grandma Betty watched us after school.


I was jumped in the 4th grade, afraid to walk home from school for two years after that. OAKDALE WAS THE LINE I never crossed.


Back then I dreamed I’d be an electrical engineer, an English teacher, an Archaeologist.


When word hit from my Aunt Beth that we were going to lose it I felt lost in a faze.


I wandered around Downtown Toledo, confused why God told me I was supposed to live with my mother.


Anger crept in. Why hadn’t she kept up on the taxes?


I remember high school and coming home to an eviction notice. A pink slip taped to the back door window with capitalized letters and furious exclamation marks. You have 10 days to pay up.


I swore I’d never be like them, living paycheck to paycheck, begging parents to help with rent.


Now I worry about garnishment and losing my disability check.


No one chooses to be disabled, it just strikes up on them. And it’s not until you’re at the mercy of the government and charities that you realize how protected you’ve been.


Life goes on, the house gets repossessed. Nephews and nieces grow older.


GRANDMA’S dead and Ethan is born. A child loses its tooth.


I stand here and gaze at the unknown and

wonder if he’ll still come to me when all has gone?


About Michael Medlen

My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.
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