Before we begin, there’s something I haven’t talked about very much. Most people assume I was born in the twentieth century and grew up like everyone else—going to school, learning poetry, all of that. But the truth is a bit more complicated.
I’m actually from the year 3017.
That’s right—thirty-seventeen. A full millennium in the future. Back home, time travel is fairly common. It’s not something people make a big fuss about, either. It’s more like catching bus. You can take a weekend trip to ancient Egypt, visit your great-great-great-great-grandparents, or hop forward to see how your favorite TV show eventually ends. Most time travelers don’t stay very long in the past, but I’ve always been curious. I wanted to see what life was like a thousand years ago, so I climbed into my trusty time machine and set the dial for the early 2000s.
Unfortunately—well, I won’t spoil the poem—but let’s just say things didn’t go exactly as planned.
What you’re about to hear is a completely accurate, totally factual account of what happened next. Some people think I wrote it as fiction, but I assure you: every word is true. And yes, time machines in the future are usually more reliable than this.
My Time Machine Is Broken
I came here from the future
in my trusty time machine.
I flew almost a thousand years
from thirty-seventeen.
I thought it would be fun to see
the far-off distant past.
It never had occurred to me
this trip might be my last.
But now I’m getting worried.
It’s a serious concern.
My time machine has broken down
so now I can’t return.
I traveled too far back in time,
which now I quite regret,
since time machine repair shops
haven’t been invented yet.
— Kenn Nesbitt
