N  a  p a  l  m     H  e  a  l  t  h     S  p  a  :     R  e  p  o  r  t     2  0  0  7






Tong-len Forgotten


How is it I rush

past the young man asleep

on a cemetery bench

behind Église Saint-Jean-Baptiste,

my every thought on finding a café


yet still notice the newspaper folded,

inky shroud over his face,

Converse high-tops with no socks,

silver studs that are a belt below

a smile of skin, his waist

alive with its blue-vein tattoo?