A Tool Breaks Its Promise<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
You tricked me, leafblower! out amongst
\nthe lawns, admiring my own arms for<\/p>\n
their usefulness, peeled bark, owned houses,
\nguidelines toward mulch. I wanted you<\/p>\n
to be the wind, harnessed, I wanted
\nyou to make me God. But like the firehose<\/p>\n
or blender or hangglider before you, this is a
\nclumsy toy, a dignity steal for men in buttoned<\/p>\n
shirts even on their day off. Listen: my home leaves, they are alligators, even in the fall. council in apology rags, contrition tie, shame loafers. over there, on his riding mower, grinning, <\/p>\n “A Tool Breaks Its Promise” is reprinted from\u00a0Wonder And Risk.\u00a0<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Graham Isaac<\/a> 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<\/a> reading series and was one of the organizers behind the Greenwood Lit Crawl<\/a>. His work has appeared in various journals, including Licton Springs Review,<\/a> Your Hands Your Mouth, Hoarse, The Raconteur<\/em> (UK), Beat the Dust<\/em> and more. He is allergic to cats.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 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 … Continue reading
\nis my castle<\/em> and the lawn is my moat and the<\/p>\n
\nYou’ve punchlined me, set me to the neighborhood<\/p>\n
\nI drive back, my satnav\u00a0malfunctioning, Joe,<\/p>\n
\nnear asleep in his beer.<\/p>\n