Not the Grandson

Here they come again to open up my door To stare at my innards, to pick and choose. Take the carrots! I yell. Take the tomatoes. I know they are going to get moldy and smelly. Why don’t they ever choose the vegetables? Why do they buy them? Are they trying to impress the other shoppers? My freezer is completely full. Open the freezer! I think, wanting to drop something hard on their toes. Oh, no! It is the grandson. He likes standing inside me, swinging on my door. Not the grandson! I yell. But no one hears me. I cringe as my door opens.