Fungus

I don't know how you do it!
But you have my total respect.
The fungus grown upon your face,
That now travels down your neck.

I try to emulate many of you,
Because I accepted a stupid bet
To grow my face fur for a month,
A natural thing for men to do, and yet!

Two weeks in, upon my chin.
That hair continues to grow.
It curls and furls in random directions.
But it's path it does not know.

One would think gravity would kick in and work.
But Einstein did not calculate for this.
This grey, ginger, bearded ugly face,
A mother would not kiss.

It feels like ants not in my pants,
But crawling on my face.
When I look into a mirror,
I look disheveled, feel disgraced.

Two more weeks to endure this itch.
Then some beers I may just win.
If I can stop my fingers,
From ripping off my skin!