Out in the World

I never claimed that I would be intrepid
In the face of danger. I was scared
When I was told the water had turned tepid
And there were pictures of my weak chest, bared,
Out in the world. Out in the world my skin,
Too pale, too sallow, showed my true, bare soul,
A sickly thing made of paper and tin,
As shallow as a wading pool, but whole.
We travel outward now, we venture forth
Out in the world, and at the very least
We try the Golden West, attempt the north
(Santa!), the south (penguins?), and end up east,
Way East of Eden, with the ones cast out
So much like us, dismissed in a great rout.