A man living alone addresses someone he hasn't seen for about a month, and the poem is half greeting, half confession. On the surface he sounds easygoing: the time has been "bright, quiet, sweat-free." But the details undercut that calm. Church bells ring each morning, reminding him that other people are gathering, kneeling and praying together, while he is not part of any such reunion.
The moon has gone through a full cycle, yet the days feel like one day on repeat, "like a peppy song on heavy rotation." The cheerful simile makes the monotony sound slightly maddening. When he sets the table "as well as a guy who lives alone can do," there is a wry, self-deprecating humor, and a little embarrassment.
The ending turns warm and invites the absent person to sit down. Even so, the only company he offers is the "Monday blues." The mood is gentle, wistful and funny, with loneliness sitting just under the jokes.