Outside windows,

Clouds have fallen down—

Too obese to fit in the sky.

The clouds plummet,

Thousands of pedestrian ice particles,

(Their microscopic beauty only to be seen

In Holiday Season commercials)

Fall as a result of the clouds’ new

FDA certified diet.

Some lost calories land on the wiry,

Flat-ironed, black silk of her hair,

While she treads on the less fortunate

Cloud-citizens who fall on the

Oil-highlighted roads.

She stencils the word “UGG”

On every patch of snow,

White or yellow,

That her feet can take her

Before the moisture in the air

Melts the cosmetics that have

Seeped into her face.

When the sun wakes,

The fallen snow will revoke its previous identity

Of decorative clouds,

Waiting to vomit out

More textures for the brand names

On the bottom of her shoes

To imperialize.

Author’s Note: This poem is not an anti-UGG campaign.