About the Poems
by Fritz Ward
I fell down so well. I mean, who hasn't had a teacher crush? A split lip? A fondling of Fantasia and French ennui? It happened. Eventually, I grew weary of my love poems by the third word. More importantly, they had grown disenchanted with my vernacular foreplay. They needed to be cross-dressed and crossbred. I cut an orange in half and set it on the windowsill, hoping the citrus would sting. It did.
Currently, 17 poems comprise this love affair.