A Chat with the Man by Jim Senetto

thanksgiving-table1

A Chat with the Man

Had a chat with Jesus
around the Thanksgiving table,
wondering why man continues
to kill, beat and rob,
why the children are abused,
why the till death do us part crowd,
continue to part, alive,
why wife beaters
aren’t beaten down
by the hand of his daddy,
why cancer drives the terminal car
through so many lives,
why millions of Jews
were treated as bread
in the ovens of monsters,
why mad rulers squash followers
under the insanity thumb,
why corruption runs rampant
in those we trust,
why hunger bloats the bellies,
why color brings a spit upon,
why the wars continue,
why we melted hundreds
of thousands
splitting the atom;
the building block
of our float through the cosmos
and maybe the seventh shouldn’t
have been for rest,
for now seven days aren’t enough
to figure it all out,
not enough to keep the boogeyman
at bay,
not enough to bounce the grandchild
on happy knees
and they’ll need twenty days a week
looking around for the same answers.

Care for another piece of pie?

blackpooljimmyAPJim Senetto about Jim Senetto

My father was quiet; loving, provider but quiet…I never knew a grandfather, his side, or his brother lost at 28 and I was told not to ask. So quiet I was…me, the quiet one, second echelon in a group of friends…quiet in the confessional booth I was brought to…why tell a stranger, in a dark booth sitting behind mesh, my woes, thinking it just might be his woes were worse than mine (I’ve later learned, some in collars should have sat on the other side of that mesh window, confessing). I was drafted in ’66, taught how to kill strangers and my mouth began to question why and with some friends now dead from bullets of insanity, I became alive, vowing never to be as quiet as my father. He had his reasons, I’m sure, old school and all of that, but I had to break the chain. Art, photography, music, poetry is my voice and it’s all fair game…say it loud, some will listen and that is good enough for me.

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