I Am Rhymthically Sound

I have arrived gradually, in boxes. from foreign places, unknown sellers. part of me was procured from a man who told his son to come get me or else five years ago I am stealthily planning my take-over of this household. slowly crowding the people here out of their space, requiring more and more room as I arrive in boxes. I am crowding them gently at first, incognito practically until my drumsticks and brushes arrive. all bets are off now, no more silence for them. I am dying to drum out six or eight sets. They know I am here now, as do their neighbors. The whole town knows. A gentle, hostile mighty take-over first a bedroom, then the great room. Now my pieces are lackadaisically lounging around the entire premises, in a good way. I am rhythmically and methodically sound. But sneaky. Piece by piece I have inched my way into the human man’s brain. The wife has been slower to come around. We still stick out our tongues when we meet. I am the rhythm master, spreading my beat enjoying my stands and my cymbals, loving the beat as the human man plays me softly, then loudly with my sticks and brushes. Crescendo now! Bam! Final finish! I am amazing!