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Standing at my sister’s bedroom window
I used to watch half the match.
Not a forty-five minute half,
but half the pitch; the Warbro Road end.
The old pop-side-terrace shed blocked
my view of the rest.
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Now I see the match through a screen,
sitting on my settee. That shed
is long gone but with grounds closed
I must live-stream the action
on my laptop. The view is better,
but the atmosphere’s flat.
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Through the pane, across the road,
I could hear the fans roar,
sense their excitement as United attacked.
That’s missing now. Instead I hear
managers and players curse and shout.
And I can SHOUT too, on Twitter.