Wheels

by Robert Carr

At the VA, Dad picks
Monster Green
when handed the color chart.

A nurse measures
trembling thighs. The seat
is custom, titanium

frame, all-terrain.
I’m startled
by his spine, a question

poured in wheels.
He points out passing
residents. That one was

at the shoe factory
out in Dexter. That guy
built ships in Bath.

There’s my friend, Don.
He flew trout bums
up the Allagash. His father

was a shoe guy too,
a paid-by-the-sole stitcher.
Fastest one around,

they say. A woman,
wearing a purple turban
and bedazzled blouse,

winks and spins
into the sunroom.
She’s a piece of work.