Looking at a Medieval Triptych Painting with the Flu

I wrote 3 poems to catch up:

I

Conquered eyes, hostile smiles;

Fail to conceal rage

Over memories exiled

Of a bygone age

And displaced for those

Disgraced kings deposed 

Now restored their thrones

But in power all the while 

Singing loudly in reprise

Fantastical claims

Nostalgia weaponized

To shift any blame

And those living in this buffer

Have two choices to suffer

Convalesce or don’t recover

You can’t remain the same

II

See the fortress, monolithic

Past murky, bloodwarm streams

Wait while chalky soporifics

Stave off intrusive dreams

And the dawn sun’s lethal

Benzedrine breeze

Pushes errant clouds of diesel

Through its blackened beams

Some are hurled to action

To brag about their deeds

And overstate infractions 

Of the men on which they feed

I waterboard myself with a neti pot

Playing “It’s Dark and Hell is Hot”

Deciding if I want to rot

In mute resistance or in screams

III

Hearing pledges of allegiance

With no evidence to see 

In pretenses of the regents

Just hypocrisy

For all their close accounting

Of false threats mounting

It’s like a dream in which you’re drowning 

But discover you can breathe

To what degree of blindness

They stomach their reflections

Or questions in kindness

Given prickly receptions

Opportunities to learn 

Have diminished returns 

Don’t make it your concern

It’s all a matter of perception