Drawing a Perfect Circle

It's Tuesday, and my father demands to seethe ocean. He needs his shoes.I tell him water is so far, even the thirstin his legs couldn't carry him there.He closes his eyes and hears waves.He wants his dog to come.I compromise. I bring him saltand pepper shakers shaped as lighthouses.I tell him this is the closest we can get.His eyes deepen. He blinks hard at the ceiling.I want him to die        and he turns to me,like some brilliant child, and smilesas he clinks the crystal lights in his hands.