On Returning to My Hometown in 2035

Even the gun shows are gone now, even

the scrapyards, the darkest, farthest barns.

The strip mall half empty since

my elementary years abides only

chemicals now, the lot sequestered

behind fences, its metal tanks checked

each September for leaks in the seals.

I lost my virginity in a basement here, lost

my balance on a backhoe, had to pick

the gravel out of my knees. For the prom,

my date was the tank man just vaporized

in the heat storm, his data screen open

to augmented porn. This morning

in my Honda pedi-plane, I flew over where

we used to sled, old hills oranged now

for warning, only the edges still brown.

I saw a denier sitting outside

in a lawn chair, her hair so long

it met the ground. There’s no idling in

the skyways now, which is why

I can’t tell you if she was dying.