The Quail Hunt
By Trina Mioner, Army
Writing Type: Poem
Trina M. Mioner
VA Medical Center--Cincinnati, OH
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 the screams and the clatter.
He brushed off his coat, dirt and debris,
Offered his hand of friendship. This couldn’t be.
I found out later, Quail Hunting is slang,
An invitation for those new to the gang.