(Or, on the demise of very warm winter coats)
You remember very warm winter coats.
They had fur or fur-like acrylic lining them
and all around the sleeves and hood.
When you put them on and zipped them up
You peered, owl-like, from them
As if channeling winter animals
Turned bright to match the snow.
In college you trooped to class in them,
slinging them over your seats
and burrowing quite satisfactorily into them
as if you had decided to hibernate early.
In a pinch you used them as blankets
If you happened to crash
In unplanned or unfamiliar places.
If you broke up with people
Or they broke up with you,
You derived comfort
From rubbing against your coats
As if they were friendly and loving pets.
Then, as if from the ether
angry anti-warmth people
started muttering behind them,
"Where does she think she is, Siberia?"
And "Didn't know polar bears lived in New Jersey."
And people started wearing
these shiny, stretchy things
reminiscent of ski slopes and chalets.
The message was clear:
No taking up more space even in winter.
You're only supposed to be outside to ski.
Snow and frost and cold are for kids.
But three inch heeled boots are fine.
The message was clear.
So, a question
For the winter police:
What claims, what inheres
in the shiny new space
that our warm winter coats vacated?
You may encounter those heeled boots
sooner than you think.