Ich bin ein Berliner

The sky is grey
the washed out grey of pavement
dead leaves and petals plaster
the sidewalks slick and brown.
The faces of buildings sink back
into themselves, their height shrinking
under the weight and threat
of the clouds. Behind a chain link fence
small children snake around
the asphalt playground in silent lines.
There is no sugar for tea and the bread is stale

Did I wake up in East Berlin this morning?
Is it April 13, 1952? I pop the collar of my
black coat and walk faster, listening
for footsteps behind me. There are spies
everywhere and I have secrets.