What's the excuse this time?
"It was Godzilla!"
BPL Excuses
The air is thick, the sun is fierce, the summer heat sets in,
And once again, upon our isle, the dark routines begin.
The hum of power dies away, the ceiling fans grow still,
While frustration rises hotter than the air upon the hill.
From Grand Bahama down to Inagua, the chorus starts to rise,
As another dark night falls beneath the humid Bahama skies.
The Progressive Liberal Party stands behind the microphone,
To offer practiced speeches in a calm, practiced tone.
"It’s an aging generator," or "The fuel was bad this week,"
"It’s an unexpected surge," or "There's a sudden cable leak."
"The load was far too heavy," "The infrastructure’s old,"
"It’s legacy neglect from past administrations," we are told.
"Just give us time, a little patience, modern grids are on the way,"
While the people sit in darkness and watch another day decay.
We are sick and tired of speeches, of the suits and the spin,
Of the polished press conferences where the tall tales begin.
We don’t care about the contracts, or who signed what back when,
We care about the blackouts happening time and time again.
What will the next excuse be when the island goes pitch black?
Will it be a passing bird, or that the rain came off its track?
Will you blame the salt sea air, or claim the wind blew far too strong?
How many more excuses until you admit that this is wrong?
The anger isn't quiet now; it brews in every street,
As families lay awake at night, exhausted by the heat.
The sweat drips off our foreheads while we toss and turn in bed,
With visions of a functioning power grid inside our head.
The elderly are suffering, the toddlers weep and cry,
While temperatures keep climbing under July's blazing sky.
Heat strokes are no longer just a warning on the news,
They’re a real and present danger while we pay our monthly dues.
Go look inside the fridges where the food has gone to waste,
The spoiled meat, the curdled milk, the dinners erased.
A hard-earned week of groceries tossed straight into the bin,
While prices at the store keep rising, driven by inflation’s sin.
And what about the medicine? The insulin gone bad?
The costly, lifesaving drugs that people wished they still had?
The surges hit without a thought, a sharp and sudden shock,
Destroying the TV, the fridge, the AC, and the clock.
Who pays to fix the microwave? Who buys the fridge anew?
Not the PLP administration—no, the cost falls straight on you.
We don't want another statement. We don't want a long debate.
We are tired of standing idle while you negotiate our fate.
Just get it fixed! From top to bottom, do whatever it takes,
Repair the lines, replace the engines, rectify your mistakes.
Spend the money where it’s needed, bring the experts to the land,
Put a permanent solution in the palm of every hand.
No more patches, no more band-aids, no more waiting on a prayer,
Just deliver constant power through the heavy island air.
The patience of this nation has officially run dry,
Underneath the darkened streetlights and the heavy summer sky.
No more finger-pointing backward, no more polished policy talk,
Fix the grid from East to West, from the harbor to the dock.
The Bahamian people deserve better than a life lived in the heat—
Turn the lights back on for good, and make the promises complete.
And once again, upon our isle, the dark routines begin.
The hum of power dies away, the ceiling fans grow still,
While frustration rises hotter than the air upon the hill.
From Grand Bahama down to Inagua, the chorus starts to rise,
As another dark night falls beneath the humid Bahama skies.
The Progressive Liberal Party stands behind the microphone,
To offer practiced speeches in a calm, practiced tone.
"It’s an aging generator," or "The fuel was bad this week,"
"It’s an unexpected surge," or "There's a sudden cable leak."
"The load was far too heavy," "The infrastructure’s old,"
"It’s legacy neglect from past administrations," we are told.
"Just give us time, a little patience, modern grids are on the way,"
While the people sit in darkness and watch another day decay.
We are sick and tired of speeches, of the suits and the spin,
Of the polished press conferences where the tall tales begin.
We don’t care about the contracts, or who signed what back when,
We care about the blackouts happening time and time again.
What will the next excuse be when the island goes pitch black?
Will it be a passing bird, or that the rain came off its track?
Will you blame the salt sea air, or claim the wind blew far too strong?
How many more excuses until you admit that this is wrong?
The anger isn't quiet now; it brews in every street,
As families lay awake at night, exhausted by the heat.
The sweat drips off our foreheads while we toss and turn in bed,
With visions of a functioning power grid inside our head.
The elderly are suffering, the toddlers weep and cry,
While temperatures keep climbing under July's blazing sky.
Heat strokes are no longer just a warning on the news,
They’re a real and present danger while we pay our monthly dues.
Go look inside the fridges where the food has gone to waste,
The spoiled meat, the curdled milk, the dinners erased.
A hard-earned week of groceries tossed straight into the bin,
While prices at the store keep rising, driven by inflation’s sin.
And what about the medicine? The insulin gone bad?
The costly, lifesaving drugs that people wished they still had?
The surges hit without a thought, a sharp and sudden shock,
Destroying the TV, the fridge, the AC, and the clock.
Who pays to fix the microwave? Who buys the fridge anew?
Not the PLP administration—no, the cost falls straight on you.
We don't want another statement. We don't want a long debate.
We are tired of standing idle while you negotiate our fate.
Just get it fixed! From top to bottom, do whatever it takes,
Repair the lines, replace the engines, rectify your mistakes.
Spend the money where it’s needed, bring the experts to the land,
Put a permanent solution in the palm of every hand.
No more patches, no more band-aids, no more waiting on a prayer,
Just deliver constant power through the heavy island air.
The patience of this nation has officially run dry,
Underneath the darkened streetlights and the heavy summer sky.
No more finger-pointing backward, no more polished policy talk,
Fix the grid from East to West, from the harbor to the dock.
The Bahamian people deserve better than a life lived in the heat—
Turn the lights back on for good, and make the promises complete.
©A. Derek Catalano/Gemini
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