top of page
ghows_gallery_ei-TX-200728959-8238880b-1.jpg.webp

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→

  • Instagram
  • Black Facebook Icon
  • Black Twitter Icon

CONTACT

For any media inquiries, please contact me.

Thanks for submitting!

Join our mailing list

Thanks for subscribing!

  • Robert Roman
    • Jul 4, 2023

My Own Private Ulysses: Making it New with an Ezraku


One of our Hemingway Half-Dozen Prose Poems has been “declined” from a Facebook Poetry Group.

In case it was the radical, new poetic form that was too much for them to handle, we invented a fresh variation on a variation. Many consider Ezra Pound’s verbless, Imagist short-short, “In a Station of the Metro” a Haiku of sorts. In the spirt of Uncle Ezra’s Modernist battle yawp, “Make it new,” we introduce the Ezraku. And yeah, it’s Joycean, of course.



In a Chemists of Dublin


The lemony scent of Sweny’s soaps:

Molly’s yellow cantaloupes.



Stay tuned for more ingenious innovations.

Same delusional time, same grandiose channel.

bottom of page