[George Simmers]

This world’s a catwalk, where one girl can strut
In quite a range of outfits. First, in pink
She makes the whole world coo, but soon
In jeans and trainers she’ll be leaping round
A climbing frame, as agile as an ape.
Next, as a teenage binger, she’s half-dressed
In crop-top, baring midriff and tattoos,
Till she’s a single mum, who sits and smokes
In crumpled tee-shirt, watching Jeremy Kyle,
And cursing men, until, in business suit,
She’s re-born, queen of office politics.
Retired at sixty-five, in strident purple,
She pesters clergymen and does good works,
Till care assistants stuff resistless arms
Into beige frocks, and lead her where she’ll sit
And stare and stare, until it’s time to sleep.