Three short lines sketch a small, familiar scene: a scandal has broken out at work, and people have lined up on opposing sides. The poem treats the whole thing with dry humor. The "faction" is "implacable," a word you'd expect in a story about wars or revolutions, yet these combatants are "dressed all in paper." That could mean memos, reports, and printouts, the paperwork that fills an office. It could also suggest something flimsy, as if their fierce positions would tear or crumple easily.
The speaker never says how they feel, but the tone gives it away. There's a wry, slightly amused distance, the attitude of someone watching from the sidelines. The title, "Politics," widens the joke: office squabbles and grand political battles look oddly alike. The mood is light, ironic, and a little deflating. Behind the humor is a quiet suggestion that much of what people fight over so stubbornly is made of very thin material.