John Muellner
MY BOSS'S BOSS'S BOSS ASKS IF I'M A TOP OR A BOTTOM

rather than asking how I think 
    the company can do better. 
He doesn’t ask if I know 
   who’s been stealing chips 
from the break room.
    Not that I’m a rat. I never told 
on the guy, who, in his overalls 
    and mad scientist hair, confessed 
to eating baby food from a busted box 
    before working an extra shift. I look out 
for the underdog. My boss’s boss’s boss is not 
    gay. He’s not asking for personal reasons, 
unless you consider it a personal reason 
    to solicit gossip for the warehouse. 
One time we had a bat in the building, enough 
    raised voices coaxed me from my trailer. 
Two young guys caught the intruder in a tote 
    normally used to keep envelopes 
or hold a tire, preventing it from bouncing 
     on the conveyer belt and knocking out teeth. 
The bat turned out to be a moth.
    I went back to work while they put 
the flashlight away and brought the bug 
   to the side door. During summer storms 
we would leave a door open to cool the building, 
    guys scurrying to simple relief, 
lifting shirts to their nipples. 
    I would stand in the doorway and wait 
for lightning to showcase sopping trees, the light 
    making me feel caught. I could still show you 
where the new hire threw up mid-shift, 
    not too far away from the moth capture, but quite a distance 
from where my boss’s boss’s boss asked my position. 
    There’s only one way to find out, I told him. 
I buzzed around the trailer keeping my back to him, 
    left and right, stacking trampoline 
boxes, distributing weight. 
    I try to be a peacekeeper, peace being 
one of the few things I could take with me
    at the end of the night. Dust covers my arms, 
my sweaty clothes. When I get home 
    I’ll blow black out my nose. Tonight 
it’s only drizzling. The doorway is blocked 
    with nocturne and lightning is not coming.



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Image by Marcus Vinícius A. Ribeiro from Pexels

John Muellner is an LGBTQ writer from St. Paul, MN. He earned his MFA from New York University where he was a Departmental Poetry Fellow. A Pushcart nominee, his work can be read in Denver Quarterly, Emerson Review, Sixth Finch, Court Green, and elsewhere. Currently, he’s a Voertman-Ardoin Fellow at the University of North Texas where he’s working on his Ph.D.
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