In just three lines, Dave Bonta paints a worker caught in a life he can't easily leave. The title, "Wage slave," sets the tone: a person who works only to get paid, and who feels owned by that need. The first line turns work into a net, something that snags and holds you rather than something you choose. Its threads are "ale and cheap hopes," which suggests the speaker is stuck partly because of small comforts. A drink after the shift, a modest wish that things might improve. They soften the days but also keep him tangled.
The last line shifts the image. "My heart in a tent" is harder to pin down. A tent is temporary and flimsy, so the heart seems to have no real home. It might also hint at a heart that is camping out, waiting, never settled. The mood is weary and quietly bitter, yet the short, compact form makes it feel dry and matter-of-fact rather than dramatic.