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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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  • Robert Roman

My Own Private Ulysses: Bloom’s Three-Body Problem


First is queen Molly, Bloom’s wandering wife,

Her mind’s a river of run-on phrases,            

More like a gutter, with smut her head’s rife.        

Her thirst has lit his world up in blazes.            

And the princess of the seaside striptease,           

Gerty shines outside, not some boom-boom room.        

And when it comes to that seminal sneeze,             

Her gravity pulls it out of old Bloom.                

And Martha, whom Bloom keeps under his hat,           

He’s hounded by her cool haughtiness.                 

Oh, his gentle lady’s a real wildcat,                 

Who purrs to punish his hot naughtiness.              

Bloom spirals chaotic between three stars.            

He’d have more luck with green women from mars.



Stay tuned for more celestial sonnets.

Same starry time, same spinning channel.

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