Good Bones

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 has 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 real shithole chirps on

About good bones: This place could be beautiful,

Right? You could make this place beautiful.