Disabled

Disabled

He sat in a wheel chair, waiting for dark,

And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,

Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park

Voices of boys rang saddening like hymn,

Voices of play and pleasure after day,

Till gathering sleep had mothered them for him.

About this time Town used to swing so gay

When glow-lamps budded in the light-blue trees

And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,

In the old times, before he threw away his knees

Now he will never feel again how slim

Girls’ waist are, or how warm their subtle hands,

All of them touch him like some queer disease.

There was an artist silly for his face,

For it was younger than his youth last year

Now he is old; his back will never brace

He’s lost his colour very far from here,

Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,

And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race

And leap of purple spurted from his thigh,

One time he liked a blood smear down his leg

After the matches carried shoulder-high

It was after football, when he’d drunk a peg

He thought he’d better join. He wonders why….

Someone had said he’d look a god in kilts

That’s why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,

Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts

He asked to join. He didn’t have to beg

Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years

Germans he scarcely thought of; all their guilt

And Austria’s did not move him

Of fear came yet.  He thought of jeweled hilts

For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;

And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears

Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits

And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers

Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal

Only  a solemn man who brought him fruits

Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul

Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes

And do what things the rules consider wise

And take whatever pity they may dole

To-night he noticed how the women’s eyes

Passed from him to the strong men that were whole

How cold and late it is! Why don’t they come?

And put him into bed? Why don’t they come?

Wilfred Owen