Terza Rima

For my last writing lesson I had to write a poem in a certain style called Terza Rima and we had to write it about an old photograph we have. I picked a pretty much legendary photo and I'd have to dedicate this poem to Murf.


Golden Shower

He stands in profile with pride, bare chest,
holding an upturned bottle in his hand.
An amber shower only seen at Leeds fest.

His face shows a mixture of disgust and
amusement as he fights the urge to revile.
Why he’s doing this he doesn’t understand.

Gazing at the muddy ground all the while
the golden shower glistens in the sun.
Cascading over him as he chokes on bile.

He wonders how he got here, what had he done?
As he remembers he laughs out loud,
this punishment far outweighs his small fun.

His sentence at end he looks up un-cowed.
Drenched in urine he shouldn’t look that proud.