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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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“…he had proceeded towards the oriental edifice of the Turkish and Warm Baths, 11 Leinster street, with the light of inspiration shining in his countenance and bearing in his arms the secret of the race, graven in the language of prediction.”

- Ulysses, James Joyce


The Bathing Bloom


Leopold Bloom, great drawer of water,

Watercarrier and waterlover.

The sea, his Homeric alma mater,

Warm Turkish bath is where he seeks cover.

Naked nymphs bathe above Bloom’s jingly bed.

He wonders, “Time for a bath this morning?”

Buck Mulligan bathes in the cove, instead.

While Kinch stays unbathed. His excuse? Mourning.

With Martha’s naughty letter recently read,

Bloom tells himself, “Bath a most private thing.”

Her promise to punish him bobs in his head,

And pushes him to pull his ding-a-ling.

The sight of Leopold’s limp languid flower

Another reason I stick to the shower.


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BELLO: (Peremptorily.) Answer. Repugnant wretch! I insist on knowing. Tell me something to amuse me, smut or a bloody good ghoststory or a line of poetry, quick, quick, quick! Where? How? What time? With how many? I give you just three seconds. One! Two! Thr...

BLOOM: (Docile, gurgles.) I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant...

- James Joyce, Ulysses


Today’s Ego-Excoriating Ezraku:



In the Privy of My Ulysses


The Joycean poetry in my mind’s Great Hall:

Graffiti on a sour, shithouse wall.



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*For an explanation of the Ezraku look here.




Ah, I’m hungry.

He entered Davy Byrne’s. Moral pub. He doesn’t chat. Stands a drink now and then. But in leapyear once in four. Cashed a cheque for me once.

– Ulysses, James Joyce



A Gorgonzola Sandwich Sonnet


Go and “Get a light snack in Davy Byrne’s.”

Nice quiet bar. Nicely planed. A moral pub,

An abode of bliss to forget concerns.

So be like Bloom, order his relished grub.

“Cheese sandwich, then. Gorgonzola, have you?”

And Burgundy, a good glass, to lubricate.

Don’t wolf chomp. Linger like Bloom when you chew,

Smooths things out when it’s time to defecate.

“Like a few olives too if they had them.”

But unlike Bloom’s, today’s globes are of the grape.

No oysters, please. Unsightly clots of phlegm.

But feety cheese from this plate you will scrape.

Thank Joyce for the sandwich Gorgonzola!

Bloom could have liked gluten-free granola.



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Same sumptuous time, same scrumptious channel.

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