<div> <P style="BORDER-TOP-COLOR: ; BORDER-LEFT-COLOR: ; BORDER-BOTTOM-COLOR: ; BORDER-RIGHT-COLOR: ">“I know I’m holding a good book in my hand when I use the other to call my friends and read poems to them. How generous John Repp is! He zooms in on the moment, but he’s always glancing at everything that surrounds it. His funny poems have dark hearts, just as the sad ones are clearly written by someone capable of belly-shaking laughter. They tell wonderful stories, yet they contain chewy little nuggets that are often indifferent and even hostile to story. I’ve said elsewhere that a poem either writes you a check or sends you a bill, and <I>Fat Jersey Blues</I> writes me checks faster than I can cash them. Oh, and these poems make me do something else that the good ones always do: when I hung up after reading ‘Bob Johnson,’ ‘The Maltese Falcon,’ or ‘Balcony’ to a friend, I sat down to write myself.” —David Kirby, author of <I>The Biscuit Joint</I>.</div>