I remember how my mother <br />placed her cupped hands <br />over the mouths <br />of my sister and I. <br />Down behind the sofa <br />we hid from the enemy <br />in the half light <br />of drawn curtains. <br /> <br />Then that dreaded knock <br />at the door of our house, <br />set our hearts racing. <br /> <br />There we sat frozen <br />until we heard the click <br />of our garden gate. <br /> <br />Through a keyhole <br />the Rentman doffed <br />his trilby hat <br />and threw <br />a wry smile... <br /> <br />at our 'empty' house.<br /><br />Ian Bowen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rent-day/
