The poem treats "home economics" with a wry, slippery humor. Its three short stanzas each take a practical subject and tilt it into something odd. Talking about money, the speaker says, is like trying to carry the sea in a purse: the thing is too big, too fluid, and too unruly to hold. Money seems to slip away the moment you try to contain it in words.
The second stanza brings things back down to earth. The speaker works only for "good bacon," a plain, bodily reward that sounds both modest and stubborn. Then comes the last stanza, where the speaker finds their head "in wine" and, because of that, hope. It's hard to say whether this is joyful or a little rueful, and the poem seems happy to leave it open.
The mood is light, dry, and playful, with a hint of weariness underneath. Judging by the tone, the speaker would rather take comfort in simple pleasures than make sense of the economy.