The loudspeaker announces the Christmas party,
“One to two in the conference room.”

We chip in for cold cuts, bring goodies from home,
stuffed eggs, ham and swiss sands on rye, cranberry relish.
pink jello salad, fruitcake, and powdered sugar cookies.
Mary Harjo posole, which we eat in paper cups.
Mrs. Petty jabs me, whispers, “We shoulda made chicken soup.
for Dr. Kopperman.” Sandy brings bunuelos, learned to make them
i n her Mexican cooking class. Angleina spits hers into the wastebasket,
hisses to Connie, “I’ve never tasted anything like that.”
Sandy overhears, gets huffy, says, “They’re Mexico City style.”
The spiked punch is gone in fifteen minutes.

Abbey doesn’t want them to know she’s pregnant
but we laugh when she pops a button on her blouse.
Evie gives me three pair of bikini panties
each with a drink recipe on it. Kyle, the security guard
plays Santa. Mary Dullea is selling hot Navajo jewelry
for her brother-in-law in Arizona.

The custodians are having their own party upstairs.
Lucille says, “They’re playing Spanish music and
I can’t understand a word of it.” She writes her recipe for
sweet potato pie on a pink “While You Were Out” pad,
tells me it’s her new husband’s favorite.
He’s from the Bahamas, hates Albuquerque.

They pass around a card to give to Poopsie,
the head radiologist’s secretary.
It’s a penis with glasses. Underneath
it says, “Season’s Greetings. Guess Who?”
I don’t think Poopsie will come to our party.
The way she says, “executive secretary,
emphasizing the “zec” I know she won’t show up.

Evie thinks she’s having a mad affair with Dr. B.
That may be possible, but I think Poopsie simply
hates people, especially this time of year.

When the door swings open
you can hear a baby cry.
What a world.