In just three short lines, this haiku-like poem sketches a scene of men, presumably homeless or down on their luck, as the title "Skid Row" suggests. They sit around a barrel fire, drinking wine and passing the afternoon by talking about their bad wives. Nothing else happens, and that is the point. The day has no schedule, no work, nowhere to be.
The speaker doesn't say how he feels, but the details do the work. The word "all afternoon" suggests long, slow hours with little else to fill them. The "bad wives" hint at failed marriages, and perhaps at how these men ended up where they are, though the poem never says so. There's a dry, almost wry humor in the topic, as if blame is easier to hand around than to hold.
The mood is a mix of warmth and quiet sadness. The fire and the wine offer comfort and company, yet the conversation circles old grievances. It feels companionable, but also stuck.