Dave Bonta's short poem plays on the familiar phrase "law and order" by pulling its two halves apart. Order comes first, alone on its line, and it gets a blunt, unflattering description: "that dull end / of the world." Instead of something comforting, order sounds like a kind of stillness or finish, a world with nothing left to happen in it.
Then the poem makes its sharpest move. Order is "said to die with the cleanest hands," which suggests it goes out tidy and blameless. The final line, "unlike the law," hints that law does not get away so cleanly. Judging by the wording, the speaker suspects that law is messier, more compromised, maybe more guilty than the neat image it presents.
The speaker seems wry and skeptical rather than angry. The mood is dry and a little chilly, with the humor of a quiet jab. The short lines and abrupt ending leave the idea hanging, so readers are left to decide what law has gotten its hands dirty with.