The Purple People
They would have taken the time
to find then follow the signs,
makeshift on power poles:
turn left, right, left again,
to see the red and blue balloons
bouncing in the breeze
at my mother and father's yard sale.
No drive-by lookie-loos they!
Out of their purple Pinto
the purple couple leapt,
expectant, expecting,
pregnant with purpose.
Look at purple Him:
puffed, peaked corduroy cap,
immaculate goatee, velour suit,
open-collar satin shirt,
chains of gold around his neck.
And purple Her:
ribbon in the hair, lipstick,
polka-dot hoop dress,
legs sunned, feet
sandal-strapped,
open-toed.
But both were blind
to the sundry wares
my folks had laid out:
coasters, skis, toaster,
teapot, playing cards, army cot,
placemats, hangers, crystal cat.
They saw only,
square on the table,
faux-velvet, king-sized,
the purple bedspread,
vast when unfolded
there by purple Him,
there wrapped by Him
around them both,
a priestly vestment,
cocoon for two,
from goatee giggling
to open-toe wiggling,
eyes-squeezed bliss,
ecstasy palpable,
as though they’d found
finally the needed thing
for completion,
a totemic temple
of their desire—
this cast-off spread,
now shed, now shared,
now bared (my God!)
by my mother and father.
And I looked once more
at the sundry wares:
the coasters, skis, the toaster,
teapot, cards, the army cot,
the mats, the hangers, and
the wide and widening
cheshire grin
of a purple,
purple,
crystal cat.
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The linguistic beauty of this poem, its insight, its descriptions, and its fullness of tangible detail—are masterful.
And silly me, relieved that the purple people eater of 50s top-40 fame did not burst upon the scene to devour the giggling, toe-wiggling couple in a single gulp, bedspread and all.
What a delight it was to read this today!
What a vision. If I’d dreamt this I’d be smiling days and days later..
This is gorgeous.