The poem looks back on a time when two people lived in a cold, cramped apartment and had very little. The title, "Privation," names that hardship, but the details show something more tender than bleak. The cat claims the warmest place, on top of the refrigerator. When the fridge shuts off, the sudden quiet makes the couple lower their voices and move closer, as if the silence were something to shelter from.
The images get smaller and funnier: walls "thin as takeout menus" and a ceiling stain shaped like Antarctica, a joke about how cold the place feels. The last lines turn physical. They bruise each other's hips, which suggests a bed that is too small or too little space between them. The speaker seems to remember this with fondness rather than complaint. The mood is wry, intimate, and quietly nostalgic, finding closeness inside the discomfort.