Craig Rozniecki's poem is a long list of everything that shapes a life: birth and death, schools, jobs, friends, beliefs, even the jokes we laugh at. The speaker claims all of it was predestined, and the repeated, almost mechanical lines make that idea feel heavy, like a checklist ticked off in advance. Nothing is left over for free will, and the title says so bluntly.
The last two lines change everything. The speaker says he was "fated to write this poem" and then declares it "nonsense." That is a neat trap: if he was fated to reject fate, does the rejection count as a choice? The poem seems to leave that question open.
The mood is flat and resigned at first, then wry and a little defiant. The speaker sounds like someone testing a bleak idea and finding he can't quite believe it, even while he can't prove it wrong.