A Triptych Titled “Happy Hour” (Round 2)

Let's workshop this poem about a man whose inner rage and turmoil is vividly depicted across three interconnected panels

A Triptych Titled “Happy Hour”

The right panel displays a janitor hunched
against a backdrop of Rembrandt shadow,
his yellow aura muddy like a storm river.
The scruffy man, uneasy near passing eyes,
is lifting a frayed mop from a pail murky too,
his back skewed to viewers forty-five degrees
in an inverse three-quarter pose accenting
a side creased with anger and self-disgust
while concealing (if only for casted hope)
a side expressive of empathetic emotions.

The left panel, a still-life, falls in a subgenre
where subjects of mundanity (fruits, forks)
face imminent disruption. But in this case,
instead of a mischievous cat paw reaching
for an oyster on the half shell, a gnarled fist—
veiny, hairy—barrels down at a paper plate
and its finger food of blue-collar Americana: 
sweaty cubes of Colby-Jack, pepperoni rings; 
a hunk of port-wine cheese spread swirled
yellow and prison-tray orange; Ritz crackers. 

The center panel, double each wing’s width,
zooms out from the plate to the larger scene
at a moment shortly before, or perhaps after. 
Aside from the wall crater (perfect for a fist),
a reddened man boot-kicking a dining chair
looms before a woman and toddler huddled
tight on a stained sofa—a janitor one-piece
flying with the shrapneled chair their way,
the boy’s hand clenched around what seems 
a knife hidden between the sofa cushions.