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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: Bloomsday Forecast - Cloudy with a Chance of Gorgonzola



“Father Conmee, reading his office, watched a flock of muttoning clouds over Rathcoffey.”

- Ulysses, James Joyce


What is the weather forecast for Bloomsday?           

Cloudy with a chance of Gorgonzola,                   

And a light drizzle, falling by midday,               

Of the good black stuff, not Coca-Cola.               

Expect warm gusts of thickly buttered toast           

With a morning milk mist and thick fog tea.          

And pork kidney waves crashing on the coast,          

Will improve air quality with faint pee.         

By dinner we’ll have gassy cider rain,                

Thundered potatoes and bolts of liver.           

Strong whisky winds could snap your weathervane.      

Black custard squalls will sweeten the river.         

But Poldy likes Molly's rump for desserty,     

And I have a sweet tooth for spicy Gerty.



Stay tuned for more stormy sonnets.

Same stratus time, same cumulus channel.

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