The poem is strange and a little unsettling, and it plays with a joke that turns dark. The speaker imagines going to bed and agreeing to "wed" the war, as if conflict were a lover or a spouse. The tone is flip at first: war offers "a different drink for my wick," a bawdy line that mixes appetite and desire with the idea of burning or fighting. What the speaker gets is "entertainment, a trench," and some talk of fanaticism. War here is a kind of diversion, something consumed from the comfort of a bed.
The ending cools the jokiness. "No honor" strips away any glory, and the "hat / pulled down" suggests hiding, shame, or simply not wanting to look. Judging by the title and the imagery, the speaker seems to be mocking how easily people flirt with war from a safe distance. The mood is sardonic, uneasy, and a bit guilty, with the cramped, clipped lines adding to the feeling of something half-confessed.