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The Killards Are Coming

Every damn day in Religion Class, Sister Anna Banana yapped about the Soviets revving up to start a nuclear war with the new president, Ronald Reagan. She said after the cities burned to Holy Hell, there’d be something called “nuclear winter” that would kill all... 

Double-Strength Demon Dogs

Fantastic Freddie was the only altar boy from the Red Brick Alley. He was always consecrating Ritz Crackers and trying to make us eat them like communion wafers. He light-fingered incense from the sacristy, and he blessed water from Old Lady Tully’s spigot...

Laser Loop

I couldn’t see over the tall green school bus seat except when we hit a pothole and I bounced up in the air like a Pop-Tart jumping out of a toaster. Nobody at Saint Augie’s could believe I was allowed to go. My first school picnic ever. I was good from the day I handed in my pink...

The Boy Wonder

How the Hell did Jaggerbush get himself up there? He was clawing his way up into the open window above the Science class door like a real-life gargoyle. The blockhead of a wooden mallet stuck out of the back of his Toughskins where his butt crack was. He wore three...

About The Author


Robert Roman grew up in Pittsburgh, PA, where he sold newspapers to cars from a concrete island. Read more→

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James Joyce wrote the greatest novel ever.            

A quarter million words depict one day,               

So Bloomsday will be observed forever.           

Named for Leopold Bloom, who makes his way,           

Through old Dublin on the sixteenth of June,               

While his wife Molly conceives an affair              

And calls Bloom Poldy, like he’s a buffoon.           

We hear Bloom’s thoughts which wander everywhere,     

Past and future, many a fancy flight.                 

Our hero seeks love anywhere he can:                   

Gerty’s beach and Bella’s whorehouse at night.        

Bloom is literature’s most complete man.              

Stephen, too, is a lead in Joyce’s cast.         

But time’s short, that’s a whole other podcast.

Stay tuned for more oversimplification sonnets.

Same terse time, same condensed channel. 

Doctor Reality’s prudent advice:                       

Your goal is to be banned from everywhere!            

But I write light verse, I try to be nice.            

Not dark like Ginsberg’s Howl. I wouldn’t dare.       

You fool! Art is war. It’s time to attack.            

But I want to be liked and included.                  

By this modern-day Virginia Woolf pack?               

You’re a damn Joyce-head. Don’t be deluded!           

But I wish to be published. I’m past due.             

Ha! They bark in public, but in their heart,          

They whimper and whine with envy of you.              

Like Ginny did Joyce, they’ll tear you apart.         

But I wonder, where’s my Sylvia Beach?           

Dude! You’re already screwed, just make them screech.

Stay tuned for more simpering sonnets.

Same self-pitying time, same self-esteemless channel.

Bloom’s Sweets of Sin contain the erection            

Of Wandering Rock’s great bridges and bridge          

Both halves of His episode collection.                

Then Music without Words, Sirens abridge.             

Cyclops, His myope foe, Bloom filled with woe.        

Reprover of the Citizen, indeed!                       

But Our Friend of the Frillies failed to sew          

In Nausicaa, and only spilled His seed.

Bloom’s seminal role in Oxen of the Sun is not vague, 

Midwife Most Merciful serves seeds that sprout.       

Potato Preservative against Plague                    

and Pestilence prevents Circe’s pig snout.            

O this prayer by the Daughters of Erin,          

Blesses the fruit of Bloom’s womb unbarren.

Stay tuned for more spermatozoon sonnets.

Same fruitful time, same fertile channel.

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