The hotel bar
Goes black and white
A smoke room with
The crème de la crème
Of the Upper East Side
And the superior cigars.
As color returns,
The picture is blurry.
The overworked concierge
Exhales a cloud of antique pride
Traded for the addictive call
Of status and reputation
And a market built on computers and lies.
The rich in culture and knowledge
Cannot spare a moment
For a tumbler of warm brandy and a Cuban cigar.
They are substituted for
’51 Margaux and a cold handshake.
The promise of sepia
Returns to the clutch of pigment
And the resemblance is
A fiery greed
That never dies.