Bowman turns an ordinary workday into a battlefield. The speaker spends the day dealing with paperwork, prices, and telephones, the dull business of getting by, yet describes it as a fight. The title, "Unarmed," and the opening word, "Weaponless," make clear how defenseless the speaker feels while facing it all.
The last two lines shift from outside pressures to inside ones. The speaker says they are open to "assault of words," which could mean harsh things said by others, or simply the weight of emails, forms, and phone calls. Then comes "the agony of memory," a sudden, heavier note. It suggests that the past can hurt as much as the daily grind, and that there's no way to guard against it.
The mood is tired, exposed, and quietly sad. The poem is short and plain, which suits a speaker who sounds worn down rather than dramatic. The war language turns everyday stress into something more painful.