Dave Bonta's "Nope" starts with the simplest refusal there is: the word "no." But the speaker doesn't treat it as a casual answer. It becomes "the sudden ground," something solid to stand on, and it keeps going, a "no" that continues and continues.
The second half drops into something rawer. The speaker pictures themselves as a child, "blubbering again," and the word "again" suggests this is a feeling that keeps returning. The last line piles up refusals with no punctuation to slow them down: no tomorrow, no old hands, no dead, no judgement. It reads like a list of the things that come with time and mortality, aging, death, being judged, all pushed away at once.
The mood is stubborn and a little desperate. There's something almost comic in the childish "nope," but underneath it sits fear, and the poem seems to say that refusing is both a comfort and a kind of grief.