Rude Mood

You have a look that’s so routine,
Clothed in colors of ugly green,
A motion picture that won’t be seen,
You’ve a simple look, no beauty lean.

I’ll trim you here, cut you there,
No fruit on you to careful bear,
No pot too dull or flame to flare,
No striking face or subtle stare.

My thoughts give me but little clue,
Why I must sit and look at you,
Like smelling pungent bowls of stew,
A spoon to stir my mood of rude.