What If
/A poem of varying form with eleven sections, each asking "What If" a historical event had turned out otherwise.
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What If, Archimedes?
“Eureka!” Archimedes cried,
but then he slipped, and fell, and died.
The King had hoped that Arch would show—
and put his mind at ease—
the proof his gold was pure as snow,
not carats mixed with peas.
What If, Johannes Gutenberg?
Movable type would have to wait.
While testing his press, John pressed his pate.
Confusion would reign over typing in vain
and our thoughts would lose their place
had majuscules and minuscules
forever lost their case.
What If, Isaac Newton?
Newton watched an apple,
but,
when it fell it cracked his
nut.
Gravity’s hefty mystery
would have plagued us throughout history
had not a fortuitous fall to Earth
one day given rise to widsom’s birth.
What If, George Washington?
“I didn’t cut the tree down, Dad.”
They’d soon hang that mendacious lad.
Great victory would be denied
old Washington if he had lied.
There’d be no Father of our Nation
without freedom’s procreation.
What If, Thomas Jefferson?
At dawn’s first light Tom’s Briard ate
his Declaration of our Fate.
We would still be very British,
rather droll and quite dry-wittish
had not Thomas kept his promise
with a quick rewrite in twittish.
What If, Paul Revere?
“They’re getting close—they’re almost here!”
Too late.
The Brits shot Paul Revere.
Our flag would wave red, white, and blue
but ’twould be old and not the new.
The Union Jack which broke our back
would laugh at our miscarried coup.
What If, Abraham Lincoln?
Born, raised, hung in old Kentuck’,
Dishonest Abe ran outta luck.
Slavery might not have died
if our dis-Union was denied
and fifty nations dot our land
instead of one the Founders planned.
What If, Alexander Graham Bell?
Young Watson, nearly bored to death,
remained on hold with bated breath
when from beyond, quite loud and clear,
Bell shouted, “Watson! Please come here!
It seems that you are out of range.
The lady said I need more change.”
What if, Wilbur and Orville?
The brothers’ flights were all in vain
for kitty hawks had downed each plane.
Balloons would be the norm for flight
through enterprising coup d’états
until a wizard’s one-way flight
would fail upon return from Oz.
What if, Alexander Fleming?
He never buttered his own bread
but ate the mold which left him dead.
Back in nineteen forty-two, my father would have died
had not the Army hospital been recently supplied
with magic potions which were made
from penicillin molds which they’d
been testing, and results displayed a cure when well applied.
What if, Neil Armstrong?
A shoelace, never tightened fast,
meant “One small step” became his last.
Flat Earthers say they have the proof
of all they they allege:
a postcard—flat—blue-marbled Earth,
which Neil dropped off the edge.
By Ken Gosse
From: United States