The van is overturned, wheels pointed skyward, like a great, disemboweled carcass laid out for the vultures. The great metal skin, crushed and bent, reveals struts of ribs and shattered-glass eyes.
I watch as they pull him out.
The wheels of the van are motionless and still now, the creaking silent.
Silent and still as my father.
Red, white and blue shards of glass on the pavement flicker in synchrony with the red, white and blue lights beside us.
The same colors they will bury him under.
I watch as the crumpled vehicle is hoisted onto a tow truck, to be carted to its final destination. Abandoned in a graveyard for other demolished cars and trucks and vans, it will be left to decay alone.
I wonder if there is an alternate resting place for him.