I told Johann that German was a disgusting language
full of grunts and hairballs and
harsh hateful aryan marches
and anger and terror
and words that got caught in the back of your mouth
like old toosie rolls and crunchy peanut butter

And he spoke to me in German
softly, gnetly
of an intimate and romantic language
of patent engineers huddled over brilliant inventions
of piano tuners listening intently
tenderly coaxing strings little by little
of musicians that transcribed the beauty and simplicity of little stone chapels

he spoke German
like it was a mysteriously lovely poem
with fierce pride and protection in his voice

he spoke German
and his eyes softened with affection for his nation

he spoke German
and it was quiet
and beautiful