Benefit of the Doubt

She wants diamonds,
furs, a fancy black car,
a house on the beach,
a condo in the city.
She's got legs and lips,
and a rear end that
shakes like a bowl of hard
jello on Christmas morning.
She's never worked an
honest day in her life.
but somehow has survived.
She might be forty, or
perhaps fifty or even
pushing towards
the twilight zone of sixty,
who knows, but she's
a walking pin cushion
of botox and silicone,
miracle creams and bras.
Tighteners and reducers
have done their best
to keep the bloom on
the rose. She's done thirty
days in rehab and on
occasion has to blow into
a tube in order to start her
car. Her past is shady,
her future is uncertain,
her taxes are unpaid
and everything she pretends
to own is a phone call away
from being repossesed
by some guy named Vic
in Newark. But I love her
just the same and I can
overlook these small things.
She renamed her dog after
me, that means alot in these
difficult times. I'm willing
to give her the benefit
of the doubt. I'm not
calling it love, just yet,
but we'll see how things go.