Dave Bonta's short poem is about modest talent and the surprise of being appreciated. The speaker starts by describing how an ordinary husband might sing while tuning his guitar, a casual, unshowy kind of music-making. Then he turns to himself: he plays "a bad instrument" and yet it is coated "with rich oils." The contrast suggests something plain or flawed that has been cared for and made to look, or sound, warmer than it deserves.
The third stanza is the emotional center. The speaker "dare[s] not believe" his playing is good, only "better than expected." He sounds cautious, a little self-deprecating, afraid to hope too much. The ending shifts the mood. His love is "dancing in her bed," which implies that his music, however imperfect, has delighted her. The tone is tender, playful and quietly happy, and the poem leaves us with the sense that love can make an ordinary, flawed offering feel like enough.