When I Catch the Lottery

They gon’ beg me to stay but I comin’ home to the Bahamas like royalty.

Been in America eight years now. Eight long years of looking over my shoulder, dodging paperwork, keeping my head low like I invisible.

No green card. No work permit. No peace.

But I ain’t stressing, ’cause I know how this story ends. When I catch that lottery and I will I flipping the whole game. Border patrol gon’ wish they treated me better, ’cause I gon’ be the one flying out smiling, not sneaking out scared.

Right now, I live in a one room spot in Miami with three other fellas from the islands. We take turns sleeping on the mattress. I clean cars, cut grass, run errands   anything that pay cash and no questions. I send my mommy $100 when I can, and she still think I working hotel management.

But listen, when my numbers drop, I calling The Nassau Guardian and The Tribune. I want them both to report it.

I buying a gold chain with a conch shell pendant. Getting 242 4LIFE stitched in all my clothes. I walking off that plane in Lynden Pindling like royalty, customs officer asking, Sir, purpose of visit? and I gon’ say, To reclaim my throne.

All the girls that used to ignore me? They gon’ be calling me Big Money. The same people that laugh when I was sharing bun and sardines? They gon’ be DMing me like we was best friends in high school.

I building a two-story home in Abaco, all solar panels, Wi-Fi in the chicken coop, and a jacuzzi just for my toes. I starting a YouTube channel called Bahamas Billionaire just me eating stew fish, talking mess, and giving away money to schoolkids.

Immigration? Who? They gon’ beg me to stay. Sir, we’d like to offer you citizenship. I’d say, “Nah, I straight. I comin’ back to where the ocean kiss the sand and the breeze don’t ask for documents.”

I ain’t hiding. I ain’t scared. I just waiting on that one slip of paper to change my name from illegal to icon.

The ticket coming. And when it do Bahamas, get ready.