AC? DC!

I survive this heat.

Neighbor's bikini slips down...

Where's the damn AC?

Ladies and gentlemen...

It might seem strange to begin with a haiku in our tribute to the late great Arthur ''Red'' Calentado, but I felt that his sense of humor, difficulties in his final days, and general talent with the written line would come through best with a sample of the very last thing the man ever wrote (one scrap of paper they let us see).

Please, let's tell a few truths about the man whom we are here to memorialize.

Red was not a loud or demonstrative man. He was quiet, shy, demur, and he did not want much from life. A bachelor after the unfortunate passing of his wife after a bizarre water polo accident, he lived in a house that he had himself built and maintained with skills that very few of us knew he even had. It was a simple bungelow, but he was as proud of it as any man with a mansion in the most expensive villa in Europe would be. He would let anyone know, if you had the nerve to ask, how long he had to scrape by and save not just to build the home, but to find the right parcel of land, permission from certain bureaucrats, and time to keep himself in shape to not overexert himself through all those marriages and the promises he made to have this home ready for the winter. An amazing feat for a man who was devoted to the written word.

The only problem was the weather.

Many of you knew his written work and how he would celebrate the radical change in seasons in this region. I will not quote from the collections I see that some of you clutching to your chests and laps. He would be pleased to see that his words moved so many of you to come to his very home on the day of his funeral. He would also be overjoyed if you could acknowledge his skills as a builder and artist (the watercolours will be available for sale at the estate sale later this month - please take the price guide with you on the way out after the service). He would be so happy about these things.

He would not be so happy to hear the rumours about how he died.

Do you know why he received the nickname ''Red''? It wasn't because of his native heritage (damn the press for spreading that disgusting rumour). And believe it or not, it had nothing to do with his preference for lumberjack clothing when delivering his readings and lectures. I know that it began when he was a child and he was exposed to far too much sunlight on a camping trip. He underwent a very painful rite of calamine lotion and ice baths after the delicate nature of his epidermis was revealed. His own parents started to call him ''Red'', as did the neighbors, friends and any other contacts he made, including his last visitors and the ones who lived next door. His health would always be poor. Anything could have led to his demise.

And may I just say this once? I refuse to believe that there was anything untoward about his feelings towards the young woman who was housesitting next door! She was simply a young woman who loved to worship the sun without knowing much about her famous neighbour and his inability to follow such rites. I feel that, once again, the press have hounded both her and our late friend for the wrong reasons. His home did not have proper air conditioning and Diana Cieplo deserves her privacy and respect, no matter what some very disgusting people feel she did to lead to his demise. It was not simply the temperature that leads to an old man's death. We are still learning more about the passing of this man and it may take a long time before all of the truth comes out.

Oh, by the way, is she here today?

Just checking...

Please make sure to take a guide after the ceremony. You will find the catering services have provided you with plenty to imbibe in the next room.

I thank you.

*

Thank you for reading!

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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