Lunch   They plopped him down (as we would later say) like a big bag of potatoes, right there on our long bamboo table, just the way the hospital cooks plopped down lunch, right where we were eating lunch, yes, that’s how it was,   right in the middle of lunch, rice with rocks to break our teeth and stir-fried weeds and what may have been chicken, or dog, and the docs were there, and the nurses, and all of us but the interpreters, just us and the buzz   of flies and the distant pop-pop that made the border so exciting, good for our stories, and then they burst in with that dead kid soldier, Khmer Rouge, alive an hour before, here for autopsy, just because.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont May 2010