We kept the bailiff at arm’s length
on the doorstep,
outside the threshold.
So he turned his attention to our car.
We managed to appease him with fifty pounds,
enough to keep him at bay, I thought,
until late one afternoon, after dark,
I returned with my mother and children
to find a lorry and forklift outside.
Had he come for the car?
I parked the car up the road, out of sight,
and with my children and mother in tow,
crept around the side of the house.
Formidable Mother said, ‘He won’t get past me’,
and ushered us in while she stood in the doorway,
a red-headed Viking anchored in the breach.
We remained in the dark, peering out of the window,
anticipating the checkmate move when
suddenly, we saw a figure walk past
and as I prepared to face the foe,
‘It’s Uncle Bobby!’ the children exclaimed.
There was a loud rap on the front door,
which I opened to a familiar face
who smiled at me, and relieved I smiled back
and asked, ‘Is that your lorry outside?’
‘Yes’, our visitor replied.
‘Why are you all in the dark?’
From A Bankrupt's Diary © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson
Poetry by Ceinwen Wilson 