For the Finders of Bodies in Murder Mysteries  

Pray for her now, the cleaner
arriving at dawn, unlocking,
humming idly as she dusts
till a wandering camera fastens
her face in a twist of horror.

Pray for the student rowers,
so young, so beautifully muscled,
whose oars will snag in the reeds
on a grisliness wrapped in plastic
as the soundtrack darkens its key,

or the burly, hard-hatted drivers
of gargantuan toothy machines
doomed to chew into landfills,
gulping mawfulls of garbage
to produce the critical freeze-frame:
an arm that drips from the bucket.

The lovers haunting the woods,
the children stalking their ball:
Innocent, stammering, damaged,
and dismissed by the brusque detective,
they blur. They have served their purpose.

Pray now. You will forget them
ten minutes into the action,
before the ignorable credits
in which they have no names. 

Dear Reader,

Can I be direct with you?

War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.

First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.

But we can’t do it without readers like you.

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If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.

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