Island Breeze

Let’s wrap our beef patties up in cocoa bread
And sit on the veranda sipping some Ting.
The aroma of ackee & saltfish still in the air
From Mama’s early morning breakfast.
And when we’re done, we’ll bake in the sun
Enjoying the sweet tang of a sweetie on our tongues.

No sweeter thing than the Jamaican island breeze.
A sigh of relief escapes as the wind blows in the cool mist off the ocean.
The breeze is a welcome comfort to the heat that’s all around.
The lull that settles, the vibe of the people
Of the utmost laissez-faire…

Or is it lazy fare?
As you laze your days away.
I work 12 hour shifts.
You sleep soundly in your beds, deciding if and when you get up,
Ya know if you feel like it.
You afford this freedom to do what you like
Because at any moment you can pick up the phone and call your family in America.
You come with a different sob story every time.
My baby needs formula, or a new school uniform, or mi haffi gah docta and nah no money atall!

Get ‘em for all they got, you say,
Since they’re so much better off living in the land of plenty.
The warm air and carefree vibe of the island breeds foolish thinking.
Ideas that American streets are paved with gold and that all who deh a foreign a live like kings.

What they don’t see and can’t understand is that those in America
are owned by those they work for.
We kill ourselves just to make enough to get by, and still bossman say work more, wuk harda,
So him can tek di credit fi it…I work to make him rich.

I don’t have the freedoms the island fools do.
As they lay about cursing me for not wanting to support their lifestyles.
Always complaining about what they don’t have, and what I do.
Truth is I’m worse off than you.

As you lazy fare your days away,
Waiting for your next handout, I toil and toil and reap no reward.
I always feel inadequate, like I’m not doing enough,
Whilst placing everyone’s problems on my shoulders.
Unlike you island fools,
I know that there’s no one for me to call when I’m down and out…
I sure can’t call you.

Now would you trade places with me?
I think not.
The grass is always greener…
You’d do best to just lay back
Bathe in the sun, and enjoy the island breeze.


S. Godson
S. Godson was born in Jamaica. She was raised in Huntington, New York since the age of 6 where she currently lives with her family. She’s been writing since the age of twelve, mostly at times when the words refused to stay in her head. After college, she worked as a financial analyst. She is currently working on two novels, both in the realm of never ending stories, awaiting publication upon completion.