this place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful

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. 

 

[Maggie Smith {1977- } 'Good Bones', from 100 Poems That Matter {Academy of American Poets}]