The poem reads like a sailor's quick, fragmentary snapshot of landing and heading straight for pleasure. The ship has come from Guinea, and the speaker, or the voice we follow, leaves it behind and walks to an alehouse. The title, "Cargo," hints at what has been unloaded, but the poem is more interested in what happens once the work is done: a woman, cake, ale.
The language is clipped and almost telegraphic. There are few connecting words, so the images pile up like a list of things grabbed one after another: the woman, the woman of the house, two cakes, a pot of ale. It feels hungry and hurried. Then the last line, "angry at cards," shifts the mood. The comfort turns sour, as if a game goes badly and tempers flare. The poem suggests a rough, lively, slightly unstable atmosphere, where relief and appetite sit right beside quarrelling. We're not told what anyone feels outright, but the abrupt ending leaves an edgy, restless tone.