No vacancy – a poem

The hobo turned to the motel.
In his rags he had concealed all the money he had.
Once, before he died,
he wanted to sleep in a real bed.
The owner spotted him,
turned the plate.
It read:”sorry, no vacancy”.
In this world there are not enough vacant places,
to house the people who have it hard.
It’s a merciless realm of unfortunates,
it has always been like that,
it probably will always be like that.

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