Vince Imbat

Baker Hall, 1927–

May 21, 2022

You were once an overseer of starving women and children behind wires walking with their bones bursting out of their skins stench of burning flesh blending with the sacred smoke of incense on every mass held by every priest.

You stay while all are gone standing still here while all are lost still looking, still listening you overseer of forgotten souls your four corners still intact as if the dead you mock.

And yet I see your sad windows tired eyes to the past tired eyes to things we haven’t seen things we hope we’ll never see.

Why are you still here? When will you join the thousand souls that once walked inside your walls?

You Baker Hall Oh, most enduring of all the monsters built on my mother’s bosom.