Four short lines, and the whole poem works like a list of what's left. "Times hit hard" opens bluntly, almost like a headline, and then the speaker turns to what has been struck: "my sin," "my dinner," "my off-and-on hen," "my past." The repeated "my" makes each item feel owned and close, as if the speaker is taking stock of everything that belongs to them.
What's striking is the mix. Sin and past are heavy, abstract things; dinner and a hen are plain and practical. Putting them side by side suggests that hardship flattens everything into the same pile, so guilt, memory, hunger and a half-reliable source of eggs all matter equally. The "off-and-on hen" adds a wry, almost humorous touch, hinting at scarcity without self-pity.
The mood is spare, wary and quietly wry. The speaker doesn't complain at length. They just name what they have, and the smallness of the list says more than any explanation could.