Boujee Hippie

By 1970, I was a boujee Hippie

Fred Segal Levi skirt

Hand embroidered peasant shirt

Silver conchos the size of lemons

Zuni inlay, or Navaho squash blossoms

The Kaibabs upon my feet obscured

The fact that they were pedicured

The only thing to a Hippie’s taste

Was my auburn hair, down to my waist

Sure, ganja was a daily thing

Along with an occasional acid or psilocybin fling

The preference was blow in those days long ago.

I was a card, carrying member of Over the Rainbow

I lived and roamed all around Laurel Canyon

Dwelled a spell in a place full of red rocks and pinon

Did not drive a bug, van or live in a tepee

Preferred houses or condos and drove a 220 SE

I traveled first class, ate lobster, drank Dom Perignon

Slept the day away and partied 'til dawn

Hitchhiking the coast was a thing of the past

The Haight, love ins, communes, for me did not last

In hindsight I’d say I was more of a gypsy

With a sprinkle on top of a boujee Hippie