Waiting for the Fat Lady to Sing

by Glen Martin Fitch

So awkward I feel,
agitated, trapped,
but I feel that way
even when alone.
I checked my watch
while everybody clapped.
Why aren't you here?
I hate it on my own.
What's all this ruckus?
I can't comprehend what's funny,
tragic, planned coincidence.
It just goes on and on.
When will it end?
Repeating louder
doesn't make more sense.
But human nature
tweaks the line of life.
In every trial, marriage,
death, and birth
we seek a graceful arc
to give us worth,
as if were living tales
of joy or strife.
They're lies.
All lies.
It’s years since you've been gone.
I don't know how
I keep on keeping on.


Glen Martin Fitch's picture

Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."

Last updated August 23, 2011