...............................................................
Good Bones
BY 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,
chirps on about good bones:
This place could be beautiful, right?
You could make this place beautiful.
.
