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.