America, 2045

You will be born with a bootprint on your face
And the walls of your home
Will be wired
And the glass of your door shattered
And your deck will be rigged with cameras
They will always watch you.
You will own nothing
And nobody will make anything anymore.
The books you read will be written by robots
And
The movies you watch will be
Of a world that no longer exists.
They will sell you America as it was at Disney Land
And you will go, wishing to feel again
The moments of your youth.
In the car with your loved ones
Singing
The anthem of your youth
But you will find it all lacking.
They will force you at work to lift with your back
To shine shoes with spit
To always stand
And
They will say it’s all for your benefit.
There will be no more resting
No more drinking wine on Christmas
There will be no more love between partners.
Everyone will live in anxiety of where to go,
What to do,
Who to please.
The Panopticon will breathe about you but you will never answer.
The cobwebs on photos of your grandmother will comfort you
For she cannot see what it’s all become.
You will water dead grass with your piss
And orange trees will be outlawed.
The 99 year old president will breathe through a mechanical tube
And he will shit himself
But the men he selected for office
Will clean it with their mouths.
They will bow to his desk
This is god.

Someone will come to you
On a summer night
When the heat
Exhausts you
And they will get on their hands and knees
When you realize
They are no more than a child.
They will ask you how it was
And you will remember
Remembrance so clear
So
Sharp
Like cuts from glass
You will remember:

Dogs in backyards and
Your father at the grill
Your mother in her wedding dress and
Your grandmother smiling
Her lipstick fresh.
You will remember the dog days of summer
And the brutal cold of winter
You will shiver from the remembrance but
You will remember
You will remember the sun in the early morning
How it peered from the clouds like
Some strange visitor we oft forget.
Your mind will race with thoughts of 
Women’s legs
Men’s chests
The slickness of wet rocks
And the sound of the diving board.
There will come to you a memory so sweet
So
Poignant
That I cannot name it here.
It will come to you, though
I can tell you this.
It will come to you
And you will cry
And the child will hold your face and say
There is hope.