Zenith Is

No bleach of whatever make

Will make the Zenith fizzle into decay

Now that the day is nearly done

And the figures of the evening

Are seeping into the night coming.

Tomorrow at dawn,

The new day will stand

In no pump and circumstance

And shed away yesterday’s fluff

--Small talk of food and perfume

Fashion and fret and whatever else--

Over what was coughed out

Or implied

On the way up the lift

To whatever floor

And departure through the backdoor.

As always though,

The centerpiece

Will remain

What it is.