"Boondocks" reads like a handful of thoughts caught in passing, and the gaps between them are part of the effect. It opens with a cold, slightly bitter line: take the press out of the city, and "they do not love us." The "they" is left unnamed, which makes the sentence feel like a hurt or a suspicion, not a settled fact. Then a quiet question drifts in: who is looking after the moon? It sounds half playful and half worried, as if someone has to watch over even the things that seem to belong to everyone.
The last stanzas turn toward people. The speaker sees laboring men, housekeepers, poor wives and strangers, and the word "patient" gives them dignity. The closing image, "against all tyranny / having one good night," suggests that a single good night can be a small act of defiance. The mood is tender and watchful, with an undercurrent of unease. The speaker seems to stand on the edge of things, noticing ordinary people and quietly siding with them.