***rent Day*** Poem by Ian Bowen

I remember how my mother
placed her cupped hands
over the mouths
of my sister and I.
Down behind the sofa
we hid from the enemy
in the half light
of drawn curtains.

Then that dreaded knock
at the door of our house,
set our hearts racing.

There we sat frozen
until we heard the click
of our garden gate.

Through a keyhole
the Rentman doffed
his trilby hat
and threw
a wry smile...

at our 'empty' house.