Purple Haze

There are no public displays of purple
In my parent’s home.
Too loud for the décor taste
Of midwestern consevatives who drive
Astrovans and Rivieras.
Purple IS the bad boy pin-up and
Stretch jean rebellion of
Their teenaged daughter
Who rains funk rock royalty in
Boas and butt-less pants and
Refracts light through flyaway locks
Of glam slam bottom thumpers.
Purple is wah-wah innovation and
Screaming boots with colorless tops
Stretched over unimagined nipples
On a cold Hollywood night.
It offends the meek and the chic alike.
It is a bad hangover,
Or the hidden shade of republican lingerie.