The Connoisseur

The Connoisseur

The Connoisseur

When it came to happiness she was a gourmet,
a connoisseur of small moments and extravagance.
Like a hummingbird, free as jazz, she floated away.

She wasn’t immune to love. But her need to stay
on top of things meant she didn’t rate romance
when it came to happiness. She was a gourmet

of the ungraspable now, savouring on the spot, without delay,
what the rest of us reheat at a bitter distance.
Like a hummingbird, free as jazz, she floated away.

I envied her of course, which isn’t to say
her dance, her casual way, didn’t leave me in a trance.
When it came to happiness she was a gourmet.

To recognise contentment was her gift, her forte,
sipping the nectar from selected instants
like a hummingbird. Free as jazz, she floated away

from me with the old line: Is there anything I can say
to make this easier for you? Not a chance.
When it came to happiness she was a gourmet.
Like a hummingbird, free as jazz, she floated away.