'First the pulley. With these window-washers haul <br />themselves up to the tip-top or drop'. <br />'Yes', she said, with minimal interest. 'Next'. <br /> <br />'Then there's the lever. Useful for prising treasure'. <br />'Very well, she said, 'but I can't tell you how I try <br />never to pry'. <br /> <br />'Well, there's the wheel. Often invented, excellent for gliding <br />singly, in tandem, in trio or more'. <br />'Of course', said she, 'and number four'? <br /> <br />'Um', I said, starting to perspire, <br />and giving my brains a wrench-'the plane, if you desire'. <br />'I've never been inclined. Continue please'. <br /> <br />'The wedge', I said, recalling that <br />a wedge could not be beaten for <br />dividing night from day and dog from cat. <br /> <br />'Then there's the screw', I muttered, turning blue. <br />'Let's come back to that. <br />'Continue'. <br /> <br />'Lever, ah, pulley, plane, wedge, ah, screw, wheel, <br />What's last'? She thought and thought <br />and finally calmly cried: 'the high heel'!<br /><br />Morgan Michaels<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seven-basic-machines/
