The poem moves through three short scenes that feel like fragments of overheard life. In the first, a politician in fine gloves curses the poor, and the title suggests we are in some kind of club, a place of comfort and privilege. The contrast is sharp: elegant hands, ugly words.
The second stanza shifts to people who keep struggling "till they drop," even though luck seems against them. The last line, "as if they had no bread," is ambiguous. It could be bitter irony, or it could hint that they really are hungry. Either way, the speaker seems to side with those who fight on.
The final image is the quietest and the strangest: a moon like a "white hearse" sinking over a sad house. The speaker never states a feeling outright, but the poem's mood is sorrowful and angry underneath. The cold, funeral-like ending suggests that the cruelty of the first scene and the hardship of the second end in grief, not triumph.