Poem: Living in the middle of it - Bahamas - Written in 1989

Living on an island in the Caribbean; nowhere to run.
Our main industry depending on the sand, sea, and sun.
We tell the rest of the world that it is better over here.
We try to 'milk' the tourist for every dime,
but our local taxes we fail to declare.
Our roads are overcrowded with vehicles,
and are constantly needing repair.
The demand for electricity
is more than the local electrical company can bare.
Single parent families are springing up every where
like weeds.
We would rather import the fruit, than plant the seeds.
The need for adequately funded housing rises year after year,
And when someone is wearing rags,
we don't even shed a tear.
The apathy of a nation,
too busy to heal its people's pain.
Supporting a government,
that seems to wash its public funds down the 'drain'.
A wave of crime that never crashes
against the shore of peace and fizzles away.
Where you often don't get the quality of service
for the amount of money you pay.
Young women who think that the greatest attribute in life
is for them to look cute.
Only in a nation too busy shifting the blame
from its elders to its youth.
Where young entrepreneurs are frequently denied the chance
to form a successful business of their own.
No electricity, no water, no roads, no loans,
can you blame the youth for not wanting to stay home.
A flood of illegal immigrants enter the country,
more than the local economy can bear.
What is the need for planting imported trees,
when there is litter everywhere.
A government who has the "Midas touch" in reverse,
cultivating a xenophobic nation filled with corruption and lies.
Too afraid to lose its 'God-like' powers
if some of its public corporations are privatized.
Who builds a huge, expensive, air-conditioned mall (Town Center)
next to a poor community.
Allowing cruise ships, yachts, and hotels
to blatantly pollute the sea.
When it is who I know, and not what I can do,
which is the reason why I can get a job today.
As the church (one on every corner) sits in the dark,
as if the 'blues' will fade away if they only pray.
A home, a country, losing it's morality and culture bit by bit.
I'm a young person trying to survive through the confusion,
because I'm living in the middle of it.

By Sean R. E. Munnings
The Raga-Lover

Not much has changed in 17 Years