At first she's Playschool, dribbling, counting up,
her puzzled fingers, screeching at the set.
When Neighbours follows on, she twists her speech
to Strine distortion, and that questioning lift
that grates. Briefly the TV's off - her style
is Clubber, night-long leaping, deaf of ear
and barely clad. Sex and the City mark
her transit to the hunting age, her clock
ticking in time to 5 inch heels, and sex
in every postcode in the A-Z.
Childed, she sprawls: with Corrie and Eastenders
she fattens; other lives and loves will fill
her needy heart. The sixth age slips away,
endless repeats of Hyacinth Bouquet,
then, all appearance gone, unkempt, she slumps
to watch, sans-Hird, the final Songs of Praise.