The bus was five minutes late in the heat

The bus was five minutes late in the heat,

and the humidity felt like a heavy, wet sheet.

The dog was a lab mix, shivering and wide,

dripping the river all over my side.

He shook himself hard, a frantic, wet blur,

spraying the gray water out of his fur.

The smell hit my nose like a door being slammed,

a thick, earthy musk that I hadn’t quite planned.

It smelled like the porch back in ninety-nine,

when the world was still simple and mostly was mine.

The steam from his coat rose up in the air,

leaving the ghost of him everywhere.