Catfish Was Raised On A Farm But Won'T Milk The Cow-Pt. In A Series Of Poems Leading To My Death Poem by Ted Sheridan

My headphones covered my ears and effectively screened all of my calls
Answering instead all questions as to Mick Jagger’s longevity and fame
I was drinking up the sunshine and tomato juice cocktail simultaneously
Though one required wearing dark glasses and the other only a plastic cup
Canadian Geese were flying south from the Hamptons and stopped for a moment
To cackle a bit about the heavy air traffic and lengthy layovers in Atlanta
My wife called and the phone, knowing I wasn't listening, it's face lighted up and shouted a loud ring
I better take her call or it would prematurely call for an execution date to be set
And I wanted to at least live until next Sunday
Besides, she was frying fresh catfish for dinner
And I wasn’t about to make it my last meal as it always gives me
A bad case of indigestion…