Unexpectedly rising out of the castle top,
the giant rose,
furrowing his brow and rubbing his nose,
just like he might be about to sneeze.
Initially, startled by his appearance,
beachcombers on the sand below,
felt doubly concerned,
with rapid assessment given to the potential outcome.
“Great giant, God-like seeming in so many ways,
disturbed from your rest,
how long have you dwelt beneath this fortress-topped island?”
Asked a self-elected representative,
as a device for sneeze distraction purposes only,
with no real interest in the giant's circumstance.
“Who said that?” the giant enquired,
peering down and all around.
“I!” Yelled a young woman,
squinting upwards at the huge colossus,
darkly tanned hand,
held above brow,
acting as a visor to the sunshine.
“Well, let me see … " the giant considered carefully,
"I reckon, give or take a year or two,
using the Gregorian calendar accordingly as a measure of time ..."
"Do you still feel a twitch,
an indicator for a sneeze?"
Interjected the young woman,
wise beyond her years.
"Possibly." Said the giant,
wrinkling and twisting his formidable proboscis,
up and down,
to the left and right.
"Then kindly," said the brave and assertive young woman,
"turn around one hundred and eighty degrees to be sure,
Direct your sternutation that-a-way."
Her rising out-stretched arm and pointing finger,
cut right through the salty air.
©Brinkinfield 2020 All Rights Reserved
Part of the Ekphrasis Project (poem inspired by a picture)