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Robert

Roman

Empire

RED BRICK ALLEY STORIES

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...

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

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My Own Private Ulysses: Joycespearean Sonnet 138

Jul 22, 2025

Joycespearean Sonnet 138

When preppy Gerty declares she is pure,

I must beware, how brilliant her disguise.

I’m snared between her double-dare allure.

Good Lord, grant me a tour between her thighs!

She conceives me as gentleman, genteel.

And deceives me to believe that’s the truth.

So now I’m mental! Her couture’s my ordeal,

And there’s one cure, in truth, it’s quite uncouth.

While she projects her style as prim and chaste,

Commands belief, and teases with a peek,

She’s two: up front, strait-laced; down low, debased,

Love’s war she’s won. This girl’s a super freak.

Medusa-Venus? Or Madonna-Whore?

She’s my penis flytrap, oh please, squeeze me more.

Stay tuned for more obsessing sonnets.

Same teasing time, same charming-ed channel.

My Own Private Ulysses: On The Menu At Sweny’s Pharmacy - Reheated

Jun 12, 2025

On The Menu At Sweny’s Pharmacy - Reheated

Bless Sweny’s Pharmacy for these thy gifts,

And give us this day our daily James Joyce,

The meal’s Ulysses, but the menu shifts.

Whatever you crave, there’s always a choice.

With chief ingredients, Chef PJ cooks:

Italian, German, Portuguese, Spanish,

Whatever tongue you have, he has the books.

So long as he looks, Joyce will not vanish.

In short, your taste is tasted in your snout.

But mouth muscles do many a duty:

Licking, lapping, wagging, making out…

This versatility’s a fling of beauty.

So, no harm if the old tongue lacks some scope,

Just work those arm muscles and buy some soap.

My Own Private Ulysses: Bloom’s Brother

Jun 2, 2025

Art by Remi Rousseau

Bloom’s Brother

Bloom has a brother, his kitchen kettle,

“It sat there, dull and squat, its spout stuck out.”

Cast-iron kin, born equal in mettle,

Both hard and hot throughout the day’s long route.

Brethren they are, black clad for death this day.

But poor Paddy Dignam’s surprise demise

Could never hold Bloom’s bold male gaze at bay.

The female he’ll forever fetishize.

Bloom is womanly, Doc Dixon maintained.

But Gerty’s flirty flash his seed did spill.

And still, in Bella’s house his spout sustained.

Ol’ Bloom has no need for little blue pill!

My ‘lectric pot pouts; limp-wired, cold, and wrecked.

Oh heck! Seems my lil’ bro is not erect!

Stay tuned for more slightly revised sonnets.

Same repeated time, same recooked channel.

Robert Roman