dying alone in a small room while listening to bad music

by Justin Hyde

sitting at the bar
on friday night
eating a
six dollar
frozen pizza:

someone
pinches both my
love handles
from behind:

middle aged blond
crow's feet
but still
taut of flank.

my friends say
it looks like
you're not having
any fun,
she tells me.

i tell her:
i'm dying alone
in a small room
while listening to
bad music.

is it
all that serious?
she flashes bleach
and pinches
my bicep.

i'm probably just mistaking
tiddlywinks
for genocide
it happens.

well you're welcome
to come sit with
me and my friends,
she says
pointing to a table of
claims adjusters
office managers
and a couple
token buddhists.

thank you,
i say,
but the volume
is plenty loud
right here.