Sticks in hand
I begin the beat, beat, beat
slow and steady on the
bass, bass, bass.
The snare drum sashays in,
pounding out its part
like the popping of corn,
my afternoon snack of rhythm.
The startled cymbal
sizzles to life,
as I sing to the tempo,
pounding from my room
that signals Mom,
a headache is on the horizon.
How does personification most clearly contribute to the tone of this poem?