Excerpt from short story called, "Green Grass."

...the roach was no longer there. Maybe it had decided to move on to greener pastures. That's what I did, when I came to this country. Greener my backside, 25 years here and I have nothing to show. Maybe next year I would leave this place and go home to some sunshine and sunset rum and black fish and cray fish and jack fish and roast breadfruit. Maybe.

At night, I would often lay on my bed, sometimes well into the early hours of the morning, and wonder what it would be like landing down at ET Joshua Airport, still small and yet to get international status, as was promised by successive governments. That's the thing about ST.Vincent; everybody just talks and talks.

I would dream about those childhood days when I would go to the mountains with my pops. There, we would dig wild yams and catch crabs and crayfish, after milking the cattle and giving them a drink of water. I liked doing that, especially fishing in the river and feeling the cool water and the slippery pebbles under my feet.
Often, I would sit perched on a tree, feeling free like a bird, eating dunce plums or jar plums, depending on my mood, while Pops tended the cattle or took a nap under the tree. Those days weren't too bad when you think of it. And Pops would make sure that we pick some guavas and plum rose to take to Ma. Later that night, if she chose to and if there was enough sugar in the cupboard, we savored the sweet taste of guava jam or plum stew.

I wish I was young again. Yeah, I think I would go home. But then, where would I stay. Ma and Pops had since passed on, and that house that I dream about was no longer there, but, instead, a playing field that had been hurriedly prepared as an election promise. Now, it was overgrown with weeds and had bumps the size of St.Andrews mountain.."