Poetry by Geoffrey Forrester


She cut his hair weekly

in the garden sun

or at the kitchen table

with the radio on. 

It hardly needed to be done. 

He had little hair to speak of, 

more a grey grass skirt semi-

circling the waist of an egg. 

But the ritual was ingrown 

and somehow the more redundant

the cut, the more precious the touch. 

She took her time, for time they had.

He’d close his eyes as her hands 

softly fussed, angling his head, 

brushing his ears and cheeks, 

snicking the iron millimetres 

with precision.  

He didn’t say much, and if she spoke 

it was in a low tone, that he could feel yet,  

vibrating through her frame 

as her big warm body 

leant into his.

He loved most the finishing touch 

of electric clippers tickling his neck

droning about his ears 

like a little didgeridoo. 

Poem by Geoffrey Forrester

Geoff Forrester is a poet and performer, better known as Tug Dumbly. In 2019 he was shortlisted for the Newcastle Poetry Prize, and longlisted (for the second time) for the Vice Chancellor’s Poetry Prize. His first poetry collection, Son Songs, was published by Flying Islands Books in 2018.  

About the contributor

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