A Green Van on a Flatbed Truck

Headed north, I drove up to the intersection.

At the cross street, a flatbed tow truck

waited for the light to change.

A few minutes later, that truck drove on eastward

and I noticed it carried a faded olive green,

moss-covered delivery van.

It must have been left by its owner

in the damp and rainy Oregon weather.

It would no longer have been covered in a garage or shop.

I imagined a scene

in which the van stood dejectedly,

in a field like a horse

left out of the barn in a rainstorm.

Left outside, It's owner

would no longer drive, fill its tank,

change its oil,

or put air in its tires.

Deserted, month by month,

year after year, moss grew.

It covered the van tightly.

the way moss covers an ancient tree-limb.

It looked like some bizarre man-made plant.

 Where was the van going?To be crushed in great man-made jaws

at a plant in Albany, east of here?

If so, it would be made into tiny flakes of steel.

Those flakes would be melted

until they no longer resembled

the van in any way.

I imagined that owner as creator

of a business born of a passion,

like baking specialty artisan breads

or creating delicate pastries

When it was new, the delivery van

gleamed white and

I pictured it polished by its owner.

It could have been as shiny as were

the new hopes and dreams

of its owner, whose personal life

and business intertwined.

But I saw the van on the flatbed truck today.

And on its side panel,

I could barely discern the faded words:

Making a Difference.