The speaker sounds exhausted but stubborn. The title, "Low-information voter," suggests a person who has cast a ballot without feeling sure of the facts, and the opening lines read that way: hope is something to be put on, like a coat, and the vote is cast "against sand," as if against something shifting and unreliable. It's an odd, memorable phrase, and the poem never explains it, which adds to the sense of acting on instinct rather than certainty.
The middle stanzas show how worn down the speaker is. Sleep won't come, the eyes barely open, and even a road looks like no road at all. Nothing feels like a clear direction anymore, and the line "nothing is now / out of the way" can be read as a sense that anything might happen, or that every obstacle is already in the path. The mood is foggy and anxious. Then the last two lines turn: "but I am resolved / to drive." The poem ends on a small, determined act of going forward anyway.