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      May 7, 2024CreditJames Washington Jr.

      As son
      & mother.
       
      Welfare.
       
      State surplus
      peanut butter,
      cheese, & smiles
      for Mr. Sullivan’s
      monthly inspection
      to certify our poverty.
       
      Our couch
      couldn’t stand
      by itself,
      all lopsided on
      prosthetic legs:
       
      The Yellow Pages,
      upside-down
      cast iron fry pan,
       
      cushions ravished
      raw to cotton entrails.
       
      Mr. Sullivan
      made it look hard,
      whether we even
      needed a cheap
      new sofa, while I,
      taught to please,
      complimented
      his same-same tie,
      offered him water,
      respectful, “Sir.”
       
      Mother of a million
      thanks, thespian.
       
      & Mr. Sullivan
      nodded fedora,
      as if high courtesy.
       
      You’re a credit to your race!
       
      he said to me,
      & decades later,
      still stuck in my throat,
      thicker even than
      bitter government
      peanut butter & cheese.

      from Prompt Poem of the Month

      Note from the series editor, Katie Dozier

      Prompt: Write a poem with a single word as the title, in which our understanding of that word shifts by the end of the poem.

      “The brilliant economy of language in ‘Credit’ helps this poem knock on our door with authenticity. James further weaves us into the narrative with bold images, such as the upside down Yellow Pages and the cotton entrails of the cushions. When the dialogue hits and is allowed to hang in the air without much exposition, we too feel the slap, which reverberates with the transformative title.”

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