Disabled


by Wilfred Owen
He sat in a wheeled 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 a hymn,
 
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
5
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from 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.
10
Now he will never feel again how slim
 
Girls’ waists 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.
15
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.        20
   
                *              *              *
 
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,
25
That’s why; and may be, 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,
30
And Austria’s, did not move him. And no fears
 
Of Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled 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.
35
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,
40
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
45
And put him into bed? Why don’t they come?  
 

 
football — what Americans call soccer and everyone else calls football
 
peg — any alcoholic drink
 
kilts — the uniforms (especially the dress uniforms) of some British regiments (the Highland regiments) included kilts
 
jilts — a woman who encourages a lover and then rejects him
 
pay arrears — back pay presented as a lump sum
 
drafted out — The British sense of the word, which is not to conscript (the soldier in this poem volunteered) but to be drawn off from a larger group, in this case referring to when this soldier’s unit was sent across the English Channel to the western front.