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# Warnings
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/warnings/
- Published: 2026-07-28T17:05:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:06:34.000Z
- Description: “Warnings,” written Tuesday, July 28, 2026 poem 209 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo: "Deskside Dinner," by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Poems, Short-form Musings, Basmati, Candle-lit, Deck, Decklandia, Deliverable, Do not ignore me, Effective Immediately, File, Haptics, High Summer, July, Over-reviewitis, Persevere, Storms, Summer, Thunder, Tornado, Tornado Warning, Tyrannosaurus, Wind, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

*Tornado warning,* 
*effective immediately*  
The alert comes in,   
pinging on phone,   
buzzing with haptics  
on my wrist,   
pushing a notification   
on my laptop.  
  
Thunder rumbles,   
encroaching,   
menacing:  
Do not ignore me.  
  
The PowerPoint file  
open on my monitor,  
so riddled, injected  
with comment bubbles   
that were the edit asks   
tranquilizer darts,   
their sheer numbers   
could down a tyrannosaurus.  
  
But raindrops pelt overhead,   
creating metallic zaps,   
amplified by zinc roof,  
conspiring to pull me   
from Decklandia.  
  
My attention wavers,  
Allowing my nose to wander.  
I smell a sweetness to the air;  
the hot steam of a rice cooker.  
*Is that basmati?* I wonder.  
  
Back to the deck,   
I must press on.  
I stare at forecasts   
and proposed agentic fixes  
while the text wobbles,   
warning of over-reviewitis.  
  
The rich perfume   
of roasting spiced meat   
– is that kebabs he's cooking? –   
climbs the stairwell,   
pours through my open office door.  
  
Eyes tethered to the screen,   
I will myself to find focus,   
and the energy to persevere.  
Another growl of thunder;   
my desk lamp flickers.   
The power might go.  
And then what?   
  
I could race time,   
Toe to toe   
against a tornado,  
keep my heart rate   
in the orange   
while I fine-tune   
this deliverable.  
  
Or I could give in.  
Who am I to fight the wind?  
To ignore the sensory   
beckoning of a family dinner,  
candle-lit,   
in case the power goes?  
  
*Better close out this file,* I reason.  
Don’t want to lose my place  
in this one life of mine.