Table by the Window, Fredericksburg, VA

A woman glides across the street sidesaddle on her bike,
teens slink down the sidewalk, licking ice cream,

couples crouch to greet each other’s dachshunds
—through the window, the world is opening 

like a Mister Rogers episode when
a young guy in pristine white T-shirt and shorts 

pauses at the garbage bin just outside, an arm’s length 
away, studying it with the casual curiosity 

of a tourist reading a historical plaque.
His string backpack hangs loose as if it holds only a wallet 

or water bottle—just enough for a stroll.
He passes a hand over the opening of the trash barrel,

lifts a paper bag, and unpacks plastic forks and bits 
of cling wrap to finally draw out the prize: 

a clamshell container with a whole egg roll 
and a full saucer of duck sauce.

The guy dips the deep-fried treat in bright orange,
eats it one calm bite at a time, then reloads the refuse 

into the bag and places the bag back in the can
like a college kid raiding his parents’ fridge

with a focus so refined it blurs out the latte drinkers 
sitting right here, behind glass.




Sarah Carleton writes poetry, edits fiction, plays the banjo, and knits obsessively in Tampa, Florida. Her poems have appeared in numerous publications, including Nimrod, Tar River Poetry, Cider Press Review, ONE ART, Valparaiso, SWWIM, and Rattle. Sarah’s poems have received nominations for Pushcart and Best of the Net. Her first collection, Notes from the Girl Cave, was published in 2020 by Kelsay Books.