Poetry for Whitmonday

Postscript
W. H. Auden

Some thirty inches from my nose
The frontier of my Person goes,
And all the untilled air between
Is private pagus or demesne.
Stranger, unless with bedroom eyes
I beckon you to fraternize,
Beware of rudely crossing it:
I have no gun, but I can spit.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.