In old Dutch paintings
a green-winged hummingbird
might stand for love
when it’s on the inside of a pane of glass.
Hovering outside, it signifies the woman within
has been betrayed.
How would you know this
were it not for the scholars and books?
You would have to be Dutch from 1656.
In my notebook, this poem is preceded and followed by a few lines.
Preceding is a criticism, “There you go doing that thing again, where you write something obscure that no-one else can understand. What’s in your mind?”
After the last lines of the poem, are these comments, mine:
You expect some easy icons
Tins to pick from Tesco shelves
Or marked down shoes from TKMaxx
My poetry’s just not like that.