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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: “Why the Shakespearean Sonnet?” Asked the Open-Mic Host

  • Writer: Robert Roman
    Robert Roman
  • 18 hours ago
  • 1 min read

“Why the Shakespearean Sonnet?” Asked the Open-Mic Host


Here’s how my sonnet psychosis was born:

‘Gainst Hemingway I did commit a crime.

His gem, “For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn,”

I stole it. Then I shined it up with rhymes.

And my next victim: crazy Ezra Pound,

I smashed and grabbed his spanking new haiku.

Don’t blame me, what goes around comes around,

He robbed the old and claimed to, “Make it New.”

Delighted by my derring-do crime spree,

I craved crown jewels, so I snatched Shakespeare’s purse!

A sudden switcheroo: Now I’m not free

Entrapped by Will’s penitentiary of verse.

Confession time: James Joyce first stole my mind,

And history rhymes, so I too, steal in kind.

 
 
 

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© 2016 by Robert Roman - Red Brick Alley
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