Echoes of Alexander
by Alex Simand

while you reach
for the Edge of the World,
the Outer Sea as vast
as your ancestral echo,
I shrink to the size a pea,
wonder what spears
I might drive into the urban dark,
what armies I’ve inherited
from your Persian bedfellows—
gruff men with fur hats,
impatient as the blood of bears.

my dreams gallop at times,
coloring my childhood atlas:
my tongue lolling from my mouth,
a red crayon in fist.
mine, I say, as you must have,
filling a kingdom with ambition,
flooding the world with it,
enraging the gods with your self,
casting your ego into coin,
imposing your phalanx like a phallus—
and I wake with your regal velvet
draped across my brow.

but it’s only my dog
for breakfast.

IMAGE: “Alexander the Great” by Rembrandt van Rijn (1655).

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Alexander the Great is a pr**k. Having a name that is so broadly associated with greatness has always felt like an imposition on my life; the opportunity to look the damn name in its deified face was just too much to pass up. The contrast between the much-mythologized historical character and the miniscule me was a fun space in which to play.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Alex Simand makes his living as an engineer, but will sometimes muster the courage to call himself a writer. He lives in San Francisco, hails from Toronto, and probably talks about poutine too much. Alex has worked on Lunch Ticket for the past two issues in various roles, including copyeditor, CNF editor, and, most recently, blog editor. His work has appeared or is set to appear in Angel City Review, Ash & Bones, Ultraviolet Tribe, Drunk Monkeys, Mudseason Review, and Red Fez. He has been nominated for several Pushcart Prizes and a Best of the Net Award. Alex writes good essays, bad poems, and vice-versa.

PHOTO: Alex Simand in Burlingame, California, on Thanksgiving, 2014. Photo credit: Jessica Shamash.