The radiator hums and starts to bake

The radiator hums and starts to bake

the moisture out of everything in the hall.

The dog came in from the rain with a heavy shake,

splattering the cabinets and the wall.

He leans his weight against my tired calves

while I wait for the coffee to finally brew.

His fur is matted in soggy, graying halves

behind his ears. It’s a swampy, thick, and true

smell of neglected things. I haven't brushed

his coat in weeks. I haven't walked him far.

Everything in my life is being rushed

like a fast-moving storm or a stolen car.

He looks up at me with those cloudy eyes,

smelling of mud and the cold, decaying grass.

I am failing the simple things, I realize,

watching the steam gather on the window glass.