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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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Wisdom Hely’s Acrostically Addled Advertisement


Hely pays five men to bear and be strong.

Each wears one letter on his sandwich board.

LOL, they keep spelling his name wrong!

Yes, these characters are very untoward.

‘Twas Wisdom ordered an increase in sales.

Stationery doesn’t just sell itself.

Specially when men become leapfrogs and snails.

‘Til order’s restored, stocked remains the shelf.

Yet, what’s the point of Joyce’s running bit?

Loss of advertising’s ability?

Either or, the whole kaboodle and kit:

Heckling language’s futility.

Joyce tricks Charlie Browns with tease acrostics.

Just like Lucy always cocks up his kicks.

 

 

Subscribe and stay tuned for more acrostic sonnets.

Same agnostic time, same caustic channel.



Joycespearan Sonnet 130


My Molly’s eyes are Spanishy like night;

Gumjelly’s less soft than her lips are sticky;

Full breasts are white with fat nipples upright;

Heavenly hair whispers: I’m no quickie.

I adore her adulterous rump!

But seven miles up, I’ve not plunged my tongue.

Those plump mellow yellow melons will trump

Anything bursting from big Bella’s bung.

I bring toast and tea for breakfast in bed.

Eleven years since our love’s been complete.

My Molly sleeps with her toes at my head,

While Blazes Boylan gives her plum potted meat.

And yet, she’ll always be my mountain flower

Who I think of all day, every hour.



Subscribe and stay tuned for more Joycespearan Sonnets.

Same Jamesy time, same Willy channel.



Doctor Reality’s Sentence


James Joyce wrote the only book worth a damn,

Doc Reality states like the D.A.

At worst, all the rest are scams, at best, spam,

Frowning then downing his brown I.P.A.

Since then, I’ve served that maximum sentence

Within this inescapable prison,

Below repugnance, beyond repentance,

Locked down hard, unfree to be arisen.

But Joyce is the architect of this jail,

And a world of lives lives on the inside.

I don’t want out. Don’t come up with my bail.

In solitary is where I reside.

When sentenced by Doctor Reality,

Under Joyce’s lock and key, you will be free.

 

 

Subscribe and stay tuned for more sentencing sonnets.

Same locked-up time, same liberated channel.

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