Waiting For The Fat Lady To Sing Poem 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.