I used to carry around in my wallet the end of “Stations” (not spaced correctly):

some women wait for something to change
and nothing does change
so they change
themselves.

(Have loved that poem for more than a dozen years, and still can’t decide if that changing of themselves is good or bad. That’s the mark of brilliance.)

And I also love “Haiku II” by Ruth Forman (which was turned into a song by a band, but I can’t remember which one):

memories come down
and me once again
caught without an umbrella

“I wrote a really short story once.”

That was it. And years later I still remember it. It totally counts as poetry.