Thursday, January 16, 2025

Plight of the Working Poor

 
Sad woman holding baby

 "Struggling Mother" - Bahamas AI Art
 ©A. Derek Catalano
 
 

Plight of the Working Poor

(A Poem Inspired by the Struggles in The Bahamas)

Beneath the golden sun and sapphire skies,
Where turquoise waters kiss the island’s sighs,
Lies a tale untold, veiled by beauty's lore—
The silent struggle of the working poor.

Tourists dance to Junkanoo’s vibrant beat,
Their laughter echoing through Nassau's streets.
But beyond the glitter of the hotel shore,
A family struggles—working, yet still poor.

A fisherman casts his net at dawn’s first light,
Hoping for bounty in the ocean’s might.
Yet the rising cost of gas and bait,
Leaves his family hungry—dreams in wait.

The mother in Andros braids her child’s hair,
Prepares their lunch with meticulous care.
The rice is sparse, the fish a rare delight,
A feast by their standards—a fleeting respite.

A teacher in Eleuthera greets her class,
Her salary stretched, her pride steadfast.
She molds young minds with love and grace,
Yet struggles to provide for her own small space.

In Freeport, a porter bends his weary spine,
Lifting luggage with hope undefined.
His hands are calloused, his spirit worn,
From nights unbroken, mornings forlorn.

A young woman sweeps the grand hotel floor,
Invisible, silent, dreaming of more.
Her paycheck dwindles, consumed by rent,
Yet each dollar earned is carefully spent.

The cost of living, an unforgiving tide,
Leaves no room for hope, no place to hide.
A carton of milk, a loaf of bread—
Luxuries now, where hunger is fed.

Land of sunlit smiles and rhythmic seas,
Yet inequity lingers on the island breeze.
From Cable Beach to the Berry Isles’ shore,
The plight resounds—the working poor.

Politicians promise, their voices grand,
But solutions falter like footprints in sand.
What good are words without a plan?
What solace comes to the Bahamian man?

And still, they rise, with resilient hearts,
Wielding courage as their only art.
They labor for love, for family, for pride,
Though prosperity feels like a distant tide.

Oh, Bahamas, cradle of natural wealth,
Can you not grant your people health?
Injustice lingers, its roots run deep,
And dreams of equity drift, half-asleep.

But the spirit of the islands cannot be quelled;
Through hardship, their strength has swelled.
For in the working poor lies a quiet might,
The will to survive, the will to fight.

One day, the dawn will break anew,
Where justice gleams like morning dew.
And in that hour, they'll work no more,
For their toil will yield an open door.

Until then, beneath the tropic sky,
The working poor live, love, and cry.
Their story a hymn, their lives endure,
The plight, the strength, of the working poor.
 
 
 ©A. Derek Catalano/ChatGPT