The life that is very good
The good life sits on a bench in the park, wondering where it will find its next meal. The good life has been sitting on this bench for years now, napping during warm autumn afternoons, rolling its now-tattered polyester jacket tightly around itself during vigilant sleepless nights, watching the elderly couples meandering down the path in the newborn springtimes. Occasionally, robins nest in the elm tree whose branches stretch above the bench in the park. When this happens, the good life enjoys laying on its back on the bench, staring up at the nests, and watching the birds raise their young. Eventually, the small hatchlings grow larger and larger, large enough to fly, and as they are coaxed into the air by their mother, the good life watches them flap their still-small wings, tentatively at first, and then more boldly, as the air rushes through newly-airborne feathers and the birds eagerly explore the newly expanded horizons of the park. The good life imagines what it would be like to swim through air currents, to brush up against the boundaries of the park, perhaps even to emerge completely from its confines, free to wander the streets and tall buildings of the big city. But the good life knows that it must remain here, in this often-beautiful place, that it must stick close to this bench, waiting for its next meal. Waiting to be found.
Note: for National Poetry Writing Month, I am writing a series of poems named after and inspired by the titles of deleted Wikipedia articles. I am indebted to the @DeletedWiki Twitter bot, which automatically tweets a selection of these titles.