The speaker of "Expat" is worn out and a little scruffy, and doesn't much mind. The opening image, "weary as a clock," suggests someone who has been ticking along too long, and the admission that they neglect keeping clean sets up a loose, careless mood. Then comes a small, funny moment: a louse bothered the ex, while the speaker is "well pleased." It reads as a bit of petty satisfaction, a quiet jab at a former partner, though the poem never explains the history.
The rest is a list of modest pleasures. The speaker draws a rose, drinks a glass of bad cider, and then goes to France to write letters home. The tone stays light and wry, with a bit of loneliness underneath. Leaving for France is presented as casually as pouring a drink, yet the letters home suggest the speaker is still tied to the place they left. The poem feels like a shrug: tired, untidy, a little spiteful, but oddly content.