Ode Written In Cincinnati,1968 Poem by Rob Dyer

All the birds of evening have taken sudden wing -
out, out, away, over the Crosley right-field fence -
midst the cheering benches he slugs the bases home.

Let's have dancing, gals and laughter. Break out the flag;
bring on the Hudepohl; drink up; that's one fine beer.
Welcome ole Joe, home in the League, black pride, black power,
a bucket of medals, a swagger - 'Watch the gate.
You'll see. Now the kids'll come back to the right-field fence.'

They gather round, his dugout mates, to hear his tales
of knifing through the entrails of some 'poor bloody Red' -
they laugh how often, swinging late, Joe's earned worse names
than that from some disgruntled fan in Crosley Field.
But there is more within the jest they do not tell:

The battle for the minds of men is much the same
pleasing the crowd behind the bat, in Dien Bien Phu,
or for the men who send B-52's and Joe,
into the DMZ, 'Search and destroy for God
what makes them fight to die our awesome cannonry.'

And, as they laugh, another builds a last lone altar,
tunnelled womb-deep within his darkened Home was Mine,
and is surprised these lofty sky-borne guys dropp flame
and will accept his tiny ancient sacrifice,
whence the doves of morning may take their brilliant wings
far, far, away, within the world's remembering heart.