Christmas Fever Poem by Uche Nwanze

The season is here again. The bug has caught up with us again.
Cold, dry the weather becomes. Dried torn lips and dusty the streets.
Incessant long queues, customers besiege the banks for last minute withdrawals.
Horrendous traffic, congestion like a nasal block. Thousands of cars honking and blaring, deafening our once serene roads.
A sea of heads marching like soldier ants, where is everyone heading to? From the North to the East they make the long pilgrimage in their hundreds. From the West to the South, they Exodus back home.
January, they left as paupers they return at Christmas loads of money to buy the moon. Posh cars and palatial cribs spring up like flowers everywhere. There are no ugly lass anymore, they're all looking like the daughter of the gods. Girls desert their lovers for the lucre of gold, to the highest bidder they barter their succulent thighs.
Chickens and goats on the run, their lives will not be spared from the butchers knife.
Prices of groceries in geometric projectile, they hurriedly sell their wares.
Malls are filled like the Atlantic ocean. The endless queue, an herculean time to pay for items bought at the counter.
The ATM's slow as the snail, network gone berserk. Customers stranded no money to regurgitate.
The neighbourhood wear a new look, Christmas lights and mistletoes adorn every nook and cranny.
The fever is real, the rush of adrenaline. No one can escape, the bug catches up with us.