Imagine, a poem

Imagine

I asked Camus should we
imagine Prometheus happy.
He wasn’t sure but felt
the eagle might be, his daily
pecking filling his life.
I wondered if he even
liked liver and if it mattered.
I wondered if he told
the titan of all the things
he saw, winging above
the world on his way
to work. I could only
imagine such things. 
I could imagine the eagle
and Prometheus
and even myself, happy.

Stephen Brooke ©2026