Migrant Worker Poem by Jay P Narain

Standing by the end of paking lot,
By the side of the big box home improvement store,
Thre are a few people who wait here every day,
Looking for daily hard work to keep their hopes alive in destitute ways.

As a young adult, they heard stroies and dreamt of the paradise land,
The land of El Norte may be paved with gold and money hanging from the trees,
Everyone drives a car or two, everyone has plenty of food to eat and drink,
The even have a song, this land is for you and me.

They may be legal or illegal immigrants,
Sooner they arrived, their dreams crumbled into the realities,
They could not afford a car or live in the house of their dreams,
They could only buy their staple food if someone offered them a daily job.

They work hard, they hardly sweat in the blistering sun,
they build roads, building, mouments and gardens of everyone's dreams,
No one dedicates a plaque in their honor, no one recognizes their work,
For a fistfull of dollars, they are hired hands for a few intense labor hours.