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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


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: ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP

I claimed the Daughters’ of Erin twelve prayers       

Entitle the Odyssey episodes.                          

A voice said nope, one of those prickly pears,             

With Wandering Soap, your weak claim implodes.        

Bloom’s the wanderer. Does this need proving?         

Greek by Joyce, the Jew by bigoty Buck.               

And that lemon soap never stops moving                

‘Round Bloom’s pockets. Their bond isn’t by luck.

But your soap’s gone from the library scene.          

Your theory’s a product of derangement.               

Sure, but Erin’s Daughters polished it clean,         

With their keen retrospective arrangement.            

Joyce did not splatter the wall with flung shit.      

He made puzzles. We make the pieces fit.

Stay tuned for more spotless sonnets.

Same tidy time, same clean channel.


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