Flunkies   We barely notice them — the flunkies, rude mechanicals, there to provide a bit of comic relief, maybe tell a lewd joke between weightier scenes, flashes of wit amid the gloom of tragedy, or just poison someone and get on with the stage business of delivering notes, adjusting his lordship’s robe, or turning a page to save his lordship the trouble. They appear, do something useful, disappear. We never know them, hardly even pay them any heed at all. But they can hear things, see things, whisper secrets. When the curtain falls, we’re left to tally up who gets hurt.     © Michael Fleming Putney, Vermont February 2026