So far I've been unable to resist reading out loud (to the poor folk who have to live with me) "The Lost Ode of John Keats", "The Catch", and "Three Visions of Virginia Woolf." If you happen to be in my vicinity, "Political Fruit" is most likely going to come spouting out next. Fair warning. Here's a tiny taste from "Rhubarb", which won Kissane the 2012 Coriole National Wine Poetry Prize. More soon.
Stewed with apples you give life to cereal,
you populate pies, you fold through whipped
cream with the swirling intelligence of a fool.
Is that why when we've nothing to say,
when we need to fill the air with dramatic chatter,
we utter your name: rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb?