A serious question: Why is this not a poem?

Its just a line, not a poem, and not even a particularly interesting line either. Every thing in it is too familiar - we read it in a single glance but experience nothing. In a haiku type form, its even less than a non-poem, bringing up the whole question about why a haiku is sooooo much more than imagery. As an idea itself, it reminds me too much of American poetry in the 70's and 80's, or even beyond - imagery for imageries sake. What Ron Silliman calls the school of quietude. I look at stuff like that and yawn. Big deal. Yesterday, Robert Bly was named the Poet Laureat of Minnesota, and I always think of his early poetry as being summed up by a single poem I saw in an anthology about power lines stretching along the roadway in wisconsin. One of my all time least favorites. A poem should make us see something in a fresh way, experience it. Not just describe something and then leave it hanging out there so it can bore a reader to tears.