Side by side, line after line, Numerous little flags of white — Soaked in borax, washed and rinsed, Unfurled in the dawn's early light.
Before I finish with furling them up, Today's unfurling begins — Perhaps the stork and doctor were wise, In forgetting my order for twins.
At first glance, the speaker seems to be describing a parade of white flags, rinsed, soaked and hung out in rows at dawn. The title and the wording are a playful disguise. Those "numerous little flags of white," soaked in borax and washed, are cloth diapers drying on a clothesline, and the "dawn's early light" nods to the national anthem, which turns a mundane chore into something grand and a little absurd.
The second stanza gives the game away. The speaker has barely finished taking one batch down when the next load needs hanging, so the work never ends. The closing joke lands the feeling: the stork and doctor were "wise" to forget an order for twins, because one baby already produces this endless laundry. The mood is humorous and wry, tired but affectionate. The speaker grumbles, yet the teasing tone suggests that beneath the exhaustion sits real devotion to the child, and relief that the load isn't doubled.