She thinks I'm a poet

The cup is half empty.
She most likely thinks
I'm a slob and an ass
with my filthy toilet and tub.
At the corner the light will be red,
maybe yellow.
When someone broadsides me
I am probably not covered.

The cup is half full.
She calls me a poet
and drinks champagne
in the bubble bath I made her.
Up the street the light was green --
if it hadn't been for our fender bender
we surely would never have met --
the insurance more than covered.