Fear

There is loud door-knocking

going on.

It alarms me.

It’s a suited man

with a fancy briefcase.

We don’t let him in.

When the racket dies down,

Mother gingerly steps outside

to get the package.

When she comes back in,

she’s scowling.

There’s a big official red stamp

on a heavy wodge of printed papers.

I don’t ask.

I feel myself quaking.

I know it’s more trouble.

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