Three short lines, and almost no punctuation, so the thoughts seem to tumble out half-formed. The title, "Laid off," tells us what has happened: the speaker's job has ended. The poem never describes the loss in detail. Instead it jumps straight to a strange, unsettled question: "what is time" without work to organize it?
That question feels very natural. When a job disappears, the days lose their shape, and time can suddenly feel empty or unfamiliar. The last line, "are hands the new books," is harder to pin down. It might suggest that hands, once busy with labor, are now like blank pages waiting to be filled. Or it may hint that the body itself holds a kind of story or knowledge. The poem doesn't settle this, and that openness is part of its mood.
The feeling is quiet and dazed, somewhere between worry and curiosity. The speaker isn't angry or dramatic, just uncertain, asking questions instead of finding answers.