The poem is built from short, disconnected statements, and the gaps between them are part of the meaning. It opens with a quiet image of development: in a park, new buildings are being leased, and the next lines suggest that something natural, "where the morning grew," has been replaced by people who "do all the hurt they can." The tone is flat and matter-of-fact, which makes the damage feel almost routine.
The last stanzas turn inward. "The more a man serves / the less he finds of joy" hints at a kind of work or duty that drains the person doing it. Then the speaker admits something uncomfortable: his own contentment seems to depend on "the death of so many things." The title, "Trade-offs," fits this idea. Nothing is gained for free. The mood is uneasy and quietly guilty, as if the speaker sees the bargain clearly but cannot easily step out of it.