"Good Bones"
Maggie Smith

Life is short, thought 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 

strange, 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, chirps on 

about good bones: This place could be beautiful, 

right? You could make this place beautiful.