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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
Oct 23, 2023

My Own Private Ulysses: The Bathing Bloom


“…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.


Subscribe and stay tuned for more water-to-water sonnets.

Same godliness time, same cleanliness channel.

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