[Image: "The Problem with Early Warnings," a poem by Charles Rafferty. Transcription:
People don't like to leave a party unless the house is actually on fire. Even then, if the flames are far enough away to be pretty, they'll finish their drink, take one more pass at the hors d'oeuvres. How things happen has always been unclear. Hurricanes begin in a place where no one lives. Agents of the government start to wear masks. Fascism is a word my neighbors won't use yet. They are following the law, they say, and the sirens are coming for someone else.
End ID.]
A special thank you to r/Poetry for showing me this one.





















