On losing

I don’t like losing.
I hate the feeling.
It starts like a slow, murky itch.
Coursing from my gut, impairing my speech.
I babble a little. Move though I sit.
Words flake. No pitch. Thank heavens for my seat.

I don’t like losing.
I remember the feeling.
The cold dart, sticky throat.
Eyes peered, like daggers both.
The regret of time, the loss of mine.
Seconds took h…