A Tool Breaks Its Promise
You tricked me, leafblower! out amongst
the lawns, admiring my own arms for
their usefulness, peeled bark, owned houses,
guidelines toward mulch. I wanted you
to be the wind, harnessed, I wanted
you to make me God. But like the firehose
or blender or hangglider before you, this is a
clumsy toy, a dignity steal for men in buttoned
shirts even on their day off. Listen: my home
is my castle and the lawn is my moat and the
leaves, they are alligators, even in the fall.
You’ve punchlined me, set me to the neighborhood
council in apology rags, contrition tie, shame loafers.
I drive back, my satnav malfunctioning, Joe,
over there, on his riding mower, grinning,
near asleep in his beer.
“A Tool Breaks Its Promise” is reprinted from Wonder And Risk.
Graham Isaac is a writer and performer living in Seattle, Washington. Previously he lived in Swansea, Wales, where he attained a Masters of Arts in Creative and Media Writing from University of Wales Swansea, and co-founded The Crunch, an open mic for spoken word. He co-curates the Claustrophobia reading series and was one of the organizers behind the Greenwood Lit Crawl. His work has appeared in various journals, including Licton Springs Review, Your Hands Your Mouth, Hoarse, The Raconteur (UK), Beat the Dust and more. He is allergic to cats.