The Fun House There was a woman filled her house with mirrors. They were easy to find secondhand. “Secondface,” she joked with the women Behind the counters of the antique stores. Her house was small. Hence the mirrors. They made it bigger, and, where one mirror Faced another, they made it infinite. She called it “The Fun House.” “Bring the kids to the Fun House,” She told her daughters. But the more mirrors She hung, the rarer their visits. So she lived increasingly alone, increasing. She’d try to peer over her infinite shoulders, But as she leaned, she leaned, and leaned, And leaned… “A tornado would be terrible Luck,” many mouths mouthed, Though hers was the only mouth that said it. How does this end? you ask. Beautifully, actually. At night she had only to light one candle For countless candles to be lit.
The Fun House
The Fun House
The Fun House
The Fun House There was a woman filled her house with mirrors. They were easy to find secondhand. “Secondface,” she joked with the women Behind the counters of the antique stores. Her house was small. Hence the mirrors. They made it bigger, and, where one mirror Faced another, they made it infinite. She called it “The Fun House.” “Bring the kids to the Fun House,” She told her daughters. But the more mirrors She hung, the rarer their visits. So she lived increasingly alone, increasing. She’d try to peer over her infinite shoulders, But as she leaned, she leaned, and leaned, And leaned… “A tornado would be terrible Luck,” many mouths mouthed, Though hers was the only mouth that said it. How does this end? you ask. Beautifully, actually. At night she had only to light one candle For countless candles to be lit.