A Good Year

She hove into view;
Gilded galleon in full sail,
All hands ready,
Marigold armed
To storm my life;
Peeling paint, floorboards
Fingerprints,
Tallied up
As signs of dissolution;
Sly revolution
To subvert her manicured credo
Perfect pink toilet paper destiny
And super sized sanitised state;
But the faun scent
Of fresh baked bread
Stopped her dead;
Fate sealed with soft kissed
Late blackberry wine
And gleaming patent shine
Of my children's shoes,
Saved for,
All through summer.