Checkout #7

At checkout seven, Mary's feet are achy sore

She's so hungover from the night before

Contemplates her life as she rings up bread and salted butter

Twenty-nine years old now, still living with her mother

she regrets her neck tattoo, doesn't like her bleached blue hair, or the stupid

scratchy uniform the store makes her wear, merry daydreams of Maui though she's

never been, tunes out the old man with his pouty young teen, she's never ever

seen the ocean. It's two whole states away. Johnny promised he'd drive her from the

pool of blood in which he lay. At Checkout 7 it's safer than the liquor

store. Mary's gotta leave this town behind. Start living life once more. Four

hours left in this soul-sucking shift. Mary's gotta get out of this rut. Can't

Back to another year on her mother's couch Time to pry open doors she thought she nailed

shut Mary sold off Johnny's pick-up and hocked

his red guitar Just enough for a ticket to a fresh start

At Checkout 7, Mary's achy feet ain't there no more

They're in the soft warm sands, on a distant island shore