Patrick Mercer

Tell Me Like You Mean It 6

Once, I was sitting in my therapist’s office, and she asked me the question ‘Why do you write poetry?’ It’s a very good question; one with many answers, half of which I couldn’t articulate here. I responded to her with something like, ‘It helps me to understand my internal environment.’

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Pentridge Prison Dreaming

I house sat once, for a friend. Who lived inside a prison-pen, Pentridge Prison, the crook’s bluestone fear, Now a label on an artisanal beer. Deathly quiet in the afternoon, Sparrow chirp ricochets a quiet tune. The poor blakfellas once …

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