Tortoise mechanic

Just another day at the office.
My office smells leafy with lettuce.
‘What have we got today then Jill?’
Jill looks up, specs in her hair,
‘Paul’s sent over another broken axle..’
Twenty minute job at most. 
I rattle in the box considering wheels. 
Right ‘Let’s have a look. He got a name?’
‘Graham.’ 
Graham moves in slow-mo on the desk.
I lift him – one large hand underneath,
the other flat against his shell.
Poor sod’s only got three working legs.
When I plonk him on the cushion his legs swim 
through the air going nowhere
like Jill on her exercise bike.
I unscrew underbelly screws to release
the axle that clatters against the desk.
I fit a new one, new wheels – 
compensation for the redundant stump.
Graham’s oblivious, outstretched neck
taking wrinkled gulps from a pile of wet lettuce.
I spin his back wheels, consider the tread.
‘He’ll wear these out no doubt. Give it a few months’
Jill’s on the phone gabbing.
I let Graham have a go on the floor,
the wheels circle smooth
as if they’ve been greased with butter.