'First the pulley. With these window-washers haul
themselves up to the tip-top or drop'.
'Yes', she said, with minimal interest. 'Next'.

'Then there's the lever. Useful for prising treasure'.
'Very well, she said, 'but I can't tell you how I try
never to pry'.

'Well, there's the wheel. Often invented, excellent for gliding
singly, in tandem, in trio or more'.
'Of course', said she, 'and number four'?

'Um', I said, starting to perspire,
and giving my brains a wrench-'the plane, if you desire'.
'I've never been inclined. Continue please'.

'The wedge', I said, recalling that
a wedge could not be beaten for
dividing night from day and dog from cat.

'Then there's the screw', I muttered, turning blue.
'Let's come back to that.
'Continue'.

'Lever, ah, pulley, plane, wedge, ah, screw, wheel,
What's last'? She thought and thought
and finally calmly cried: 'the high heel'!

Morgan Michaels

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seven-basic-machines/