Okay, so to boil that idiotic mess down to something resembling an argument:

You don’t think what she wrote is poetry because your Poetry for Dummies book didn’t have a chapter covering it, specifically.

Gotcha.

You’re like a guy who reads a book on cars and the pictures show cars in blue, red, and purple, and the text says “Cars have been known to come in Blue, Red, and Purple paint jobs”

Now you see a Yellow car and immediately say “That can’t be a car! See what it says here? Red, Blue, Purple!”

The thing is, what she wrote is poetry. It was poetry yesterday, it’s poetry today, and it’ll be poetry tomorrow. Unless/until we get a Stalin in charge, with a stick up his ass about poetry, what she wrote will always be poetry.