Furry Fun Holes Poem by Andrew Rimmer

An inauspicious beginning for the star struck five,
As is the usual wont for a fledgling rock'n roll band,
The clichéd room above a depressing dingy dive,
Hidden in town next to the worn-out old Grand,
Celebrating and sating the nascent adolescent sex drive.

First success came nearly as quick as they did,
Well sort of: a little name notoriety never misses;
Spots, glasses and thunder thighs, yes god forbid
Had their groupies, and reckless with their long kisses.
On Telly: a regional slot after some jug-eared kid.

Their records selling by the truck load, Tonka that is,
Egos clashing, handbags at five paces,
The show biz losing its briefest of fizz.
The band's outnumbering the audience's faces,
The final gig: the drummer scarpering with all that was his.