Just a Bag of Confetti

I now know how Mufasa felt, in the stampede.
Hastily stuffing my bag,
While ten thousand people, ten times taller
Step back on shaking legs and over my head,
Look into each other's glazed eyes.
A conglomeration, fast dissipating over me.

I keep that day in a supermarket plastic bag,
In my wardrobe.
If anyone cared to find it, they'd find the irony
Of keeping my treasure in a trash bag.

But no one else sees more than just paper.
No one else can touch and be transported.
Red and white tissues,
Bring snatches of sweat, screaming, standing on tiptoes for a glance
Only for me.

A worthless souvenir, given worth through thought.
Hundreds of red and white paper strips,
A damp crumpled blanket, forgotten on an arena floor.
Destined to become a recycling bin of memories,
But now my worthless bag of priceless confetti.