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