The title is the key here: "Gamers" suggests people who treat war like entertainment, and the poem seems to be about the uneasy gap between living in a world of constant conflict news and doing nothing about it. The speaker keeps saying "our," so the voice is a collective one, and the poem implicates the reader along with the speaker.
The images are short and sharp. News "will not stop / or stick," meaning it floods in but never really lands. The fight is "not our fight / but in our ring," as if we have wandered into a conflict we did not choose and cannot quite leave. The phrases "prayed-for ordnance" and "mother of war" sound strange and chilling, mixing hope with weapons. By the end we are "sitting on the ground / playing at love and hate," like children, and the final line, "our absence / of any questions," lands as an accusation.
The mood is cold, numb, and quietly guilty. The speaker doesn't shout; they simply point out how passive and unquestioning we have become.