Chopped

Today I saw my poem in print
And part of it is missing.
I feel as angry as a snake
Who’s threatened and is hissing.

Imagine if you were a chef
And someone stole your spices;
Or if you were Ralph Lauren
And somebody slashed your prices.

A surgeon in the O.R. needs
Each scalpel and all knives;
And take away a painter’s paints –
Make note of how he thrives.

You would not tell musicians
That their songs should be condensed;
And shortening a sermon would leave
Preachers quite incensed.

I guess what really got me
When the damage caught my eyes
Is nobody told me I’d be cut –
It was a cruel surprise.

I know I should be grateful
That my words were even printed;
But I’d have been prepared
If cutting verses had been hinted.

Instead I did expect a tree
Of stanzas, fat and plump;
But there for everyone to read
All I found was a stump.

I’m sure that every writer,
Even if their writing’s flopped,
Would agree with me that it’s not right
To be unfairly chopped!