I Might Fall Apart
By: Loukia Borrell
Allium, A Journal of Poetry & Prose
April 2025
All kinds of men gave me trouble.
In bed, out of bed, all along the way.
One made a $300 bet he could fuck me and
succeeded. When he told me about the deal,
I was stoic and sliced in two. I was twenty-two.
Another came from the Midwest. Had a temper.
When I suggested we take a break, he asked
me to have his baby, so we could always be
connected, even if we married others. I got away.
One could only say “Holy Mackerel” in bed.
We would do it; he’d light a cigarette, exhale, and say it.
Out of bed, he laughed when he talked about his wife,
who lived a few counties away. He was
trying to get a promotion, and a divorce would
slow him down, but he promised he would
think of me every blue moon. I had to look it
up. He would seldom think of me, if then.
