The Change Part 8: Life Model As if turning a tap off the black stopped It no longer worked This grief I’d cooked up had no flavour. Eight weeks of looking at a life size Black and white photo of my father In nothing but his underpants and a trombone Posing for the camera There is was hung. Outside my office Passing it back and forth, to class, to lunch on my break, back and forth Past dad – say Hi, be nice Made his death so real. Grief was a burned pudding Burned and bitter and black Toffee stuck to the bottom of the pan Black and gritty Ad Reinhardt had it The prismatic colours of black are a spare beauty, the matrix of red black, green black, grey black, blue black, yellow black, purple black, arranged and formed into a perfect unwholesomeness. Delicious chargrilled stone baked bottom blackened black rye loaf A blackberry and squid ink spaghetti Burned Humiliated Shamed, Ignored, Stumbling embarrassment. ...