I dreamt that you stole all my books,
Negating all the pains I took;
The summary of all my life,
My history of love and strife;
And dumped them on a used book seller,
The ones undamaged from the cellar;
How empty stood the wood book shelves
Denuded of my several selves;
Empty slots, blank empty places,
Wherein my life had left its traces;
To transport them you used my daughter,
Driving in the car I bought her;
How you smiled at my stunned face,
My life a barren dusty place.

David McLansky

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nightmare-198/