The Quail Hunt

By Trina Mioner

A new place, away from family and friends

Feelings of isolation, loneliness and the blues

Shoot pool to socialize that’s what we do

A woman in the Army takes things in stride.

I welcomed the invitation, but found it quite odd

An officer, a gentleman extended to me, a private.

Hunting for quail, what fun it would be…

Ignorant!  I was the hunted; how could this be?

He spread his coat for me to lie down

We would see quail, when the sun crowned

He said, “get comfortable,” with hearty laughter

It seemed appropriate, not knowing it was me he was after.

Don’t fight, it will make matters worse

Over in minutes…no wounds to nurse

I said, “No!” It didn’t matter…

No one could hear, screams and the clatter

He brushed off his coat, dirt and debris

Offered his hand in friendship, this couldn’t be.

I found out later, Quail hunting is slang

an invitation for those new to the gang.

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