"What For"

Are you totally out of your gourd?
I don't claim you are. I don't say
"you are" but you are so far out
of my gourd, you have left behind
the Kingdom Of Vegetables and hung
out a shingle in Fungal Realms as
- to my eye and tongue - the

wrong kind of shroom. Don't piss cream
into a soup cup and tell me "Wha's up!"

I know wha's up. Let me tell you what

for.

Howcome? Why? Because, my tart
sweet bitter little salty friend,
your sour taste in inference
implies you do not know. Indicates

you wouldn't know what for
if what five and what three
doubled up on you in the STREET
and tried to pound it into you! And I assure you

if I were walking by and saw so uneven a contest,
I'd dive in without hesitation. Try to help!

You'd deserve it for the dumb look you give!

A look I will not take askance - from you
or anyone, hey. It's your look. Give it,
work it. Take it back to the shop, maybe
the new ones this year are purrin', and frankly

yours ain't winning any contests. Are you out
OF GOURDS, generally? You, so loudly claiming
greengrocer status, freshest delicious stuff
in town to be had at your stall, where you stall endlessly
monkeying up signs with unnecessarily-places apostrophes
and scare quotes like a stereotype? Such as

"BOO! GODS' DEAD!" - Freedreek Vilhelm "The Neetch" Finklesburg

...all in vainglorious hopes of distracting notice from the emptiness
of the bins, shelves and - distracting notice indeed! Take your sign

down! Wheel that empty cart away and quit stalling.

What,
do you suppose that sign signifies, to the hungry public,
about your wares? Simple. You must be Simon! And no effin' buddy
is going to take your say on what constitutes a gourd, when clearly

your'e "fresh" out. There.

That outta the way, I will commence.

To tell you what for.

"What For."