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.