The poem seems to be about getting by in a precarious, worn-down world, and about the small acts of care that keep people going. The opening phrase "sumptuous penury" sets the tone: the speakers are poor but rich in anger, raised voices and scars. The speaker describes changing layers of identity, trying to stick things together with words, which they doubt are strong enough glue. Judging by the banners and the wind, there may be a protest or collective struggle in the background, though the poem never says so directly.
The middle turns tender. When "bruised friends" arrive, limp and exhausted, you wipe them down and gently tease them back into themselves. Their survival is pictured as tiny and unsteady, a creature on a pin about to be eaten. Still, "the process continues." The ending is quiet and warm, with the speaker thanking someone for a shared game of cards. The mood is tired, wry and stubbornly affectionate.