My grandfather died on a leap year.
The government, not wanting to
confuse the binary brains of census
takers, claimed he died on February 28th.
My father thinks that because of this
he is still alive somewhere, only dead
once every four years.
The problem, of course, is that
when we remember our dead,
we hold them with a year's loss.
My father holds his father four
years heavy while the rest of the
world forgets about a fourth
of a death every year.