The Ballad Of Karen the Chook

I came to Australia as a kid.

We were dirt poor – something we hid;

Supply of eggs is what this is about -

Bought a small baby hen to help us out.

Protein the necessity, eggs the need.

Had to give her a name, easy to heed -

Karen seemed right, though little did we know

In future the name would have its own show.

So she grew but no eggs were in sight;

Obvious now her gender wasn’t right.

Seller guaranteed the hen Dad called for,

And Dad believed him - it made him so sore.

Dad was so sore after all those hopes -

The absence of eggs involved some jokes:

(Term constipation no wish to evoke -

Merely about Dad’s soreness as he awoke).

Kids, it’s with words they really like to play;

Meaning’s not important at end of day -

Little kids full of ingenuity

Came up with what could be termed a beauty.

Dad being so sore the pathway became clear…

Or rather a hybrid name popped up here.

Now you see where this is going? You bet!

Combine ‘Sore’ (Dad) and Karen; and what did they get?

Was really not far off playing scrabble -

You had to get rid of ‘Kar, but that was no trouble.

So the sounds made it and retained the ‘Sore’

Behold ‘Soren’ came out and made a score.

And now Soren crowed all day and all night.

The neighbors complained of this vocal blight -

The metaphor’s clear in Cock a doodle doo.

(We got us some earplugs, between me and you).

Postscript:

Today ‘Karen’ means rudeness, always right;

While Soren remains unfailingly polite.