Tension

Teetering, tightrope walking, not the half nor the bike across, nor nightmare clowns. It is not the trembling trapeze, nor the heightened tension inside the big tent with rumbling gray clouds of elephants nor repast of the lion tamer. It could be the oily tendrils of the bearded lady, the short, tall, fat, all of that. Still, I think it was when I was in the hall of mirrors and I laughed until I found out with a scream and a squeal that it was just a regular old mirror, the coaster with its peaks and valleys, sideways, upside- down and clowns…yes, it was the clowns.