I Have No Gun, But I Can Spit

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.

W.H. Auden,
The Birth of Architecture

More Poems

Out of the Box Coaching and
Breakthroughs with the Enneagram,
Mary R. Bast, Ph.D. 
Copyright © 1999. All rights reserved.  Revised: September 11, 2010