Confessional Box Poem by Kevin Eaglesfield

Many people sit with me,
Some in silence until they go,
Some for harmless babble,
But some have things to let out.
Need to have their insides floating in the air,
So they don't shred for a while,
Or hope I nudge them back
Through the partition, lighter.
It's hard when next to naked loss,
Or when they can't live another day,
Or have inflicted hurt or abuse,
Or just sob.
Often more than one are there,
And exorcise the last
With their happy chat and smiles.
Then the next may be lonely or cold,
Or wrecked, or angry and rude
As though it's my fault.
Maybe they're involved with
Underhand liaisons or work,
Telling me what they'd never tell
The people they should,
Seeking absolution or release or
Taking to another or better place.
In my black confessional box.
Four wheeled and for hire.