Dave Bonta's "Mole people" is only a few lines long, but it packs in a whole way of living. The speaker compares human life to a mole's: cramped, underground, always "crowding and waiting." There's no sense of open space or of anything happening soon. People are simply packed together, killing time.
The third stanza shifts the tone slightly. The light is "dull," so the world is dim and muted, yet "we take / pleasure in ink." That small comfort stands out. Ink suggests reading and writing, so the poem seems to say that people in this dull, crowded place find their joy in words. The use of "we" matters too, because the speaker includes themselves instead of looking down on the mole people from outside.
The mood is quietly wry and a little melancholy, but not hopeless. The poem seems to suggest that even in a cramped, gray existence, small pleasures like writing can make life bearable, maybe even satisfying.