good bones

Good Bones

Maggie smith

life is short, though i keep this from my children.

life is short, and i've shortened mine

in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,

a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways

i'll keep from my children. the world is at least

fifty percent terrible, and that's a conservative

estimate, though i keep this from my children.

for every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.

for every loved child, a child broken, bagged,

sunk in a lake. life is short and the world 

is at least half terrible, and for every kind

stranger, there is one who would break you,

though i keep this from my children. i am trying

to sell them the world. any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole, chirs on 

about good bones: this place could be beautiful,

right? you could make this place beautiful.