Tranmere Rovers v Southampton

Scouring the footage of an FA Cup classic
for your face among the looped faithful,
I carefully pause and drag the timeline.

Half-time finds us three-nil down,
pretending to study the match programme,
gripping insipid tea for the warmth alone.

But on the hour, the colour-bled crowd
abandon flip-up seats as Paul Rideout scores.
Better reason to stamp feet than cold,

attempt to jump-start our younger selves.
Rideout resurrects a cult of belief,
engineers space to flick in his second.

Swiping any closer blurs incredulous faces
into restless mist, the poor frostbitten pitch.
Best to pull back, track you from a distance.

At Rideout’s hat-trick, the camera pans
across the main stand, seeking the most unabashed,
not finding my father, or his three sons.

Convincing myself it’s you, up in the high rows,
relishing our reaction above your own
when ‘Barn-door’ Barlow stabs home the fourth.

Within stalled analogue,
rescued from an obsolete machine, 
we hold on to the unlikely odds.

Place in the next round assured,
I slow-drag your embrace

frame by frame
until there is nothing else.

Published in Banshee