Not exactly holiday-related, but this poem came to me after watching a group meet in a nearby conference room.

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The Meeting in Conference Room 12-A

 

“Get the door please, Mabel.”

 

As she maneuvers the maze of swivel chairs

to the conference room door, suits talk

work, kids, and sports.

The meeting begins.

She sits quietly, recording the crinkle of polyester

In brown, blue and gray.

 

As men drone on in monotone,

Mabel recalls a memory from long ago.

The sun warms her bare skin.

Geno walks toward her with a cool drink,

then rubs oil across her body, tickling her in places

only he knew.

 

The meeting ends.

She pushes chairs beneath tables without expression

as suits swish through the door.

Inside, she smiles mischievously.