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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...

About The Author

Rob.jpg

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: Bloom’s Brother

  • Writer: Robert Roman
    Robert Roman
  • Jun 2
  • 1 min read


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.

 
 
 

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© 2016 by Robert Roman - Red Brick Alley
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