I would seriously consider
Moving to an even safer oasis
Than rural Vermont
To enjoy the kind of world
I want to live in
And let the madness play out. . .
Let our descendents pick up the pieces.
Unfortunately when they are done
There won't be any pieces,
Unless you call radioactive blobs
That used to be zippers
Fused to blobs of plastic and metal
That used to be assault weapons
Excavated from mounds that used to be cities,
This poem is the closest I come