The speaker feels shut out and a little absurd. The poem opens with a small, almost comic detail: the bank door is locked, yet he wipes his shoes anyway, as if good manners could still earn him something. That mix of politeness and failure sets the tone. He seems to be someone on the edge of society, still trying to follow its rules after it has turned him away.
The next lines get stranger and bleaker. Voting for himself suggests he is his own only supporter, and comparing that to "a friend in a conspiracy" makes it feel secret and slightly shady. The talk of lying to God "for a little dirt" hints at how cheaply people trade away their principles when they are desperate. The final images, a belly full of dreams and pleasure given to a stone, point to hunger and wasted effort. The mood is wry, lonely, and quietly sad: he gives and hopes, and nothing answers back.