Two short stanzas, and the poem sets an ordinary scene beside a frightening one. In the first, someone at dinner "bets on the bone." That could mean a wishbone, a bone for divination, or just a gamble on something small and fragile. It feels like a private, almost superstitious act, a bit of hope pinned to a scrap left on a plate.
Then the poem turns outward. "Fires serve the city up" echoes the dinner setting: the city becomes a dish, presented and consumed. The verb is calm, even polite, which makes the destruction feel stranger. Nothing says who is watching or how bad things are, so the reader has to fill that in.
The speaker's feelings are never stated. The judging-by-the-tone reading is a mix of fatalism and dark irony: a small bet at the table while something huge burns. The mood is uneasy and quietly chilling. The title, "Radical," hints at roots and at drastic change, which adds weight to the bare, clipped lines.