The Boy Next Door

My room is small. 
A twin bed stands
beneath a window
where every night
across the street
Tommy’s mufflerless
chevy rumbles

up to his house 
with a boom. 

And next to the bed, 
a long dresser

with a column 
of  mayonnaise jars 

where lightning bugs
flare like comets.

I count the comets 
until a light
shines on my window

from Tommy’s house
and I hear Tommy 
turn on his shower.

I count the moments
until my room turns still
and dark again
and I go back to counting
the sparks
in the mayonnaise jars.