The speaker is heading to work, and the poem captures how empty that routine feels. The opening image of "raindrop sweat" suggests a person worn down before the day has even begun, with the words they might say hidden behind their breath. A road is being repaired by "the numerous / Underpaid," so the speaker must detour, and even this small obstacle becomes a way of "pushing" themselves toward another day of sitting alone.
The mood is weary and quietly bitter. The speaker has plenty of time to think, but that freedom has turned into "a curse," a "torture" of circling the same thoughts as the hours pass. The title, "Automated," fits: the speaker seems to move through life like a machine, going in, thinking, going home, sleeping. The final lines show a day that has slipped away, leaving only tiredness. There is no big complaint, just a flat, steady sense of being stuck.