The speaker stands in front of funhouse mirrors at a fair and sees a list of strange selves: squat, fat, very long, twisted, shattered, stretched. One line stands out from the rest: "A me I think me." Among all the distortions, there is the version the speaker believes is the real one, and even that sits in the lineup as just another reflection.
Then the poem turns. The images start to talk, point a finger, and insist, "I am you you are me." The repeated words sound like a chant, as if the reflections are refusing to let the speaker pick a favorite. Every shape belongs to them.
The speaker's reaction is quiet: "I hide a smile." It suggests recognition rather than fear, maybe even a private amusement at being caught. The final line, "They too...", is left unfinished, and it hints that the reflections are smiling back. The mood is playful at first, a little eerie in the middle, and warmly knowing by the end.