The phone rings--

But before I can  even say hello, “The coloreds are moving in!”

There is a knock at the door--

And let me tell you what’s on the other side: a white man in a suit, smiling. I admire his teeth (my late husband had good teeth too). Then, he pulled at the arm of a right-off-the-chain-gang looking fellow. The white man begins, “This gentleman is looking in your area.”

The phone rings--

 I know it’s Bob. I  beg him to stop for the sake of the community. His laughter permeates his usual retort: “Try and stop me!”

Another yard sign--

The widow’s boxes and the little furniture that remained after the auction fill the back of the truck en route to Johnson County. Not looking back, she lets out a sigh of relief: “Selling some furniture and two mortgages are worth being able to sleep soundly.”

Another yard sign.

There is a knock at the door--

And when I answer, the white man chuckles, “Boy, do I have a job for you!”

He knocks at the next door--

And let me tell you about the old widow on the other side: she smiles at first, until he yanks at my arm like the other times and she looks up and down all of my blackness. Her wrinkled face, it somehow becomes whiter with“This gentleman is looking in your area.”

The phone rings--

I know it’s Mr. Wood. He congratulates me on being approved and tells me not to worry about the numbers. Nothing can stop me now.

Another yard side--

His three boxes, dresser, mattress, and table sit in the back of the truck en route to Blue Hills.  Not looking back, he lets out a sigh of relief: “The down payment cleaned me out and the monthly note is steep, but it’s  a safe place where I can sleep soundly.”

Another yard sign.

* Inspired by GKCWP KC Tour and Part 2 of Tanner Colby’s Some of My Best Friends Are Black