by Barbara Combs Williams

Created on: September 10, 2010

I wondered why they called it a fun house
As I jumped at every shadow like a scared mouse
Warped mirrors threw back my distorted face
There was nothing remotely fun about this place

Around that corner was the woman from my job
Used her as a scapegoat and tossed her to the mob
Another turn and I saw the bitter lies I told
That left my sister without a stable foothold

My mother’s last words came back to haunt
Please she said; please help your aged aunt
Dark shadows loomed large as I closed my ears
I looked around to see if others saw my dry tears

In the fun house mirror stood my little brother
He loved these drugs like it was his mother
I hung my head as he sold his fledging manhood
I could not move, rooted like steel where I stood

All around me I heard laughter, loud and gay
Others had no trouble finding their lost way
Every way I turned I ran into a dead end
A light ahead signaled release around the bend

I stepped up to the mirror for one last look
I saw my life unfold as if read from a bad book
Dastardly deeds where I schemed and planned
Never giving a damn about my fellow man

I had sold my soul for my fifteen minutes of fame
Ghosts from my past showed me my shame
A shrill laugh floated by me as if on dirtied wings
You’re still one of us, a harsh voice loudly sings

But like the hypocrite I am I only tugged at my blouse
And I still wondered why they called it a fun house

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