I thought I was a picky kid in childhood days of yore;
but that was nuthin’ when compared to current locavore.
I wouldn’t eat my dinner if the gravy touched the peas;
but locavores must know their lamb chop’s sev’ral pedigrees.
What boat the fish were caught in, the name of your milk cow;
just how’s a guy supposed to enjoy dinner anyhow?
I don’t want the life story of the lettuce I am chomping,
nor do I care with whom my veal cutlet did its romping.
Pile my platter high with just anonymous cuisine;
and make damn sure that none of it derives from soy bean!