Berlin I roam

The Ampelmann, green bellied, beckons me over
the streets I storm with visiting desperation.
My hands devour whatever else my eyes don’t take
in shutter bites, the camera cradled, that newborn life
a digital rebirth of the Berlin I roam.

I roamed.

I print Germany out in laminate rectangles, so sweet
to see, to taste
I squirt Coles homebrand tomato sauce in my mouth
and read Stasiland again
but the currywurst won’t return into my mouth.

I thought I took Berlin
in my tourist-wide strides, made it
mine in my potted Deutsch,
like two nights was enough to conquer a city
to grow Berlin home out of my pedestrian scraps.

I leave the airport with a suitcase
and my hands empty.