Bavarian Big Ones

Chunks of seitan and soya
soaked in neon-bright marinades
“How do you like your steak?”
the girl manning the grill asked
then she laughed
it was a German guffaw
massive and threatening
“Any way you got it,” I said
and she slapped a purple slab onto my plate
the fellow next to me said
in a strong French accent
“It is almost tolerable this… meat,”
smoke blew out his nose as he contemplatively chewed
and reached for the salt
across the squat yard
boys from another band splashed
they soaked road bones in a busted Jacuzzi
from a half mile away
a colossal roar rolled over to us
Germany scored a goal in the cup match
in Hitler’s old zeppelin field
a 30 foot screen displayed the game
fans came to the site
on bikes, scooters, foot
waving republic flags of red, yellow and black
a sporting event
can so much resemble a fascist rally
it is frightening
one of the guitar players emerged
wrapped in a towel
from the hot tub
the other strummer snagged it
and the first covered his privates
he ran shrieking, he said,
“Oh no, my penis is all shriveled and little,”
people laughed and got back to their make believe meat
the Frenchman frowned and said,
“Nobody cares about little dicks,”
he then inhaled from his cigarette,
eyed me suspiciously,
and added, “…or big ones.”

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