The Last Sunday Of October Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Vilamoura marina on a glorious October day, tourists gone home
leaving the promenade for us elderly to walk sedately along it.
I saw an ancient lady walking forcefully, using a Zimmer frame,
It looked like she was trying to set a new personal record, and
we gave her space. We saw a once famous footballer, sad really
you see them running around a big green field and the next day
they are dated and forty. In case you ask, it wasn’t Beckham.
Many yachts tied up and their owners are allowed to drive their
cars on the promenade, my old socialist heart was ready to revolt.
Cafes were open and served food for us old at reduced price; still
too expensive, it was as idle waiters were eyeing us malevolently.
The Zimmer lady returned I think she had beaten her old record.
Then it was late afternoon and the sea breeze cooled our ardour;
time to go home and drink our cacao.