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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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Robert Roman

In the Beginning of the Evergreen End



In the Beginning of the Evergreen End

 

First the fall came for the summer, I did not speak out, for I was evergreen. Then they came for the pumpkins, and I did not speak out, because I was not a pumpkin. Then they came for the turkeys, and I did not speak out, because I was not a turkey. Then they came for me, and I could not flee, I was a goddamn tree. Whose urges spur these back-to-back, back-to-school purges? Who seeks to jackknife orange gourds, goring them in their own image, then wreak swords on flightless fowl while they peek at lines of scrimmage? Silently, I shriek at the tight cords that cut into me surging with voltage, blighting the moonlight with blinking bright lights electrifying my plight. Why do you carve everything in sight? Because you starve? Or take delight in unstoring your might? Or are you so bored you soar overboard making everything your smorgasbord. Are there some retro rites that afford you this right to smite? Or is your sicko spite its own dark reward? History’s arc is bending, terror’s trending, our story’s wending toward this evergreen end. So this I’ve penned, a distressed friend request. Forget speaking out, we’re at the dead-end. This is good-bye. All I wish for is a simple reply. Please don’t forget to hit send.

1 Comment


Thomas Cleary
Thomas Cleary
6 days ago

This is a great take on Martin Niemuller’s poem with the evergreen playing the part of the complacent bystander. But in addition it also includes internal rhyme to unify it and to contrast with the original poem so that it doesn’t carry the same weighted impact.

There are a number of allusions to the time of year for the pumpkin and turkey which are cleverly worded which also point out the vanity, cruelty and waste of the people who insist on carrying on these practices. In this way it retains a significant degree of social criticism so essential to Niemuller’s cri de coeur.

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