The locals knew that the Giant sleepwalked,
that he often snarled and squalled while
standing hip-deep in the bog.
Where not a thing waddled or quacked at all.
Until a familiar star flashed from the edge of his consequence,
driving away the night, the fright, and the awful bite.
The Giant’s stomach had gurgled all day
when a group of fresh ducks burst through the flatness of the scene.
They were four: a hen, a drake, and two fledglings,
Not enough to be called a raft or a flock
But curious about their new home and the strange nightly noise.
So, the elders left to search, one headed east, the other west
while the young ones stayed near the nest
to watch for signs, thinking it safe and secure.
But wound up playing hide and seek near the broad reeds.
Before long, the smaller of the two could not find the other
and became quite troubled.
Leaving three wide-eyed ducks to forage,
paddle, and make mature decisions, shivering on the shore.
Soon, the Giant blocked the sun, casting a colossal shadow,
Pinched and swallowed the second tiny sample.
The terrible Giant was a slave to his method.
He advanced slowly toward the two quaking, entrees dipping now
beneath the surface before an unplanned trip,
Flashing two pairs of wings, fingering signs from the blue, as
They streaked from the beast.
And the Giant shrugged
choosing to broil a flatbed of Black Angus
having received a terrible ache
from a previous Drake, causing his lambast
at the star and to withdraw for a nap.
Cornelia DeDona 12/15/25
(An ekphrastic poem- from a piece of art)
Corney Press 