Next time make him out of corrugated iron, for the rain to rattle, for the sea to rust, for wind to throw stones against, for branches to be dragged along him laughing. Build him without embellishment on top of corrugated iron land, underneath a corrugated iron sky, with corrugated iron hands, beside a corrugated iron sea. Stock him with books and a soft bed. Find him a small desk looking out to sea. Build him a warm fire. Fill his shelves with baked beans and tins of spaghetti. Fill his cupboards with socks, his drawers with cutlery. Fill his fridge with mince. Stand an apple tree beside him where It will be kept out of the wind. There will be no need for doctors. When he leaks call the plumber. When he leans call the brace. When he bangs call the hammer. When he fades call the paint. When he wakes call for the sun and his brothers. When he sleeps call for the moon and her sisters. When he is calm call for a bird to land perfectly on the unbreakable surface of the water. When he turns wild with iron that tears at the nail, then call for his pen and some paper. _______ (Dedicated by the author to Allen Curnow, 1911-2001)