What Do You See?

They put a funhouse mirror in front of you.

“What do you see?” they ask, “What do you see?”

You entrap your words behind your lips,

Waiting to see where they are going with this.

In the background, a sad, crouching clown;

He weeps as he makes worm-shaped balloons.

With an ugly, red smile painted over his frown,

He continues as he whistles a peculiar tune.

You look away from the melancholy sight,

Averting your attention to the fountain at your side.

The moon, the moon shines bright tonight,

But in the pond, the murky and iniquitous water

Denies the soft, white light.

They clap in your face, gaining your attention.

Once again, they repeat their question:

“What do you see?” they ask, “What do you see?”

You ignore their redundant commotion.

Your contorted body preternaturally twists to glare

At the joker juggling, the balls are beating a rhythm.

He throws the three throbbing hearts high in the air,

Playing a game he calls “Russian roulette.”

The audience around the joker cheer and clap,

The kids around the clown play and laugh.

The ravens sit around the fountain,

Tapping, tapping on the concrete ground.

You contort back, waiting for them to presume.

Examining their long legs and hands,

And their colorful, polka-dotted pantaloons.

Their white faces and black lips part again:

“What do you see?” they ask, “What do you see?”

You reply, “I see a distorted vision of me.”

They laugh, snicker, at your response,

Having to stabilize themselves on their stilts.

They cry, “Oh you fool, you stupid fool!”

They reach for your shoulder, bending down.

Pointing at the mirror, “Don’t you know the rule?”

You stare at the men on stilts as they gather around.

“You are what you see in the mirror, you fool.”

Confused, you observe the mirror again;

Something strange about the mirror had changed;

This was no distorting mirror.

You look up at the clear, dark sky.

Trying to distinguish the faces of the strange men.

You fix your crooked, spotted bowtie,

Attempting to make yourself look semi-decent.

From the flickering lights of the empty Merry Go Round,

You notice the faces of disgust on the men on stilts.

“What do you see!” they demand, “What do you see!”

You answer under your breath, sheepishly:

“I only see an image of me.”

Oh, but you should fear not, my distorted friend.

They have shown me myself in the mirror as well.