Flying Tortoise

My son can tell turtle from tortoise
and this one’s the latter,
breast-stroking half-webbed arms through the air while
sailing forward, held in small hands

that carry the critter like a messy hamburger
(fingers on the underside, thumbs on hexagons,
elbows angled). The tortoise’s tough reptilian arms
curve, sweep and retract, dry-swimming

as we airlift him from parking lot to forest.
We laugh at the audacity of his black bullet head
which he stretches out front like a curious tourist.
“He likes me,” says Felix,
setting him carefully down in a puddle.
“Animals always like me.”