Aesthetic

Walking is father’s aesthetic each morning,

downing a cold cup of coffee, as round

as a record by Hank Williams, rolling

down & thru blocks we call The Flats.

When father goes to work, they pull him

from one brain-song to another, one pause

over moving belt, one cold ham of fog,

one rounding song-face, & faceless

hanging from rusting rails of ellipses.

Someone has marks from being there…

small cuts that never heal over flakes

of bone like father who slices during

holidays, giving us our box of protein,

processed spread, animal loaf on the

dark side of moonlight. He offers you

a guitar belly of tacks, paper, string, &

charcoal, w/ nothing hidden, no pretense,

as he walks toward constellations, making

for us sound holes of the spheres for our

little faces & feet. As children do, we will

walk across a room for father, becoming

his very own aesthetic.

Jan Wiezorek writes from Michigan. His chapbook Forests of Woundedness is forthcoming from Seven Kitchens Press (2025). Wiezorek’s work has appeared in The London Magazine, The Westchester Review, BlazeVOX, and elsewhere. He taught writing at St. Augustine College, Chicago. His poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Visit janwiezorek.substack.com.