off to war

she was about to go to war,
or at least
that's what she said
when I met her.
a final date then
off to some dark
hell of a place where death
is an everyday event.
she was hungry.
so I fed her.
bought her wine, bread
and salad.
she slurped from her bowl
of clams and pasta,
every last drop down the hatch.
was she thinking
about war, as she chewed
and swallowed,
was she pondering
guns and bullets,
tanks
and jets, as she licked
the tiramisu from her fork,
or was she just
hungry and didn't have to
pay, being with a stranger
she'd never see again.