The big white hat has grayed in its case,
Next to 2-inch spiked spurs banned even then
And dried-up lassos and embroidered leather gloves
That would disintegrate if taken out of display.
The suitcases of death are stacked beside a saddle
With the TM logo stamped on the side.
The shiny metal cases have a few dents in them,
Perhaps one in the shape of his head,
As the case flew forward when his convertible crashed.
While the West disappeared around him,
He died on the side of the road, tossed
From a vehicle he would never learn to master.
NOTE: Lest anyone worry about my sanity in starting a museum, I will have you know I actually worked in one once. Yar. When I lived in Bartlesville, I worked at the Tom Mix Museum in Dewey, when Luke was little and I was newly divorced and working 3 part-time jobs at once. Tom Mix was not from Oklahoma, but his third wife was from Dewey, and the town bought his collection after he died. He died while driving his fabulous Cord convertible through Arizona. He came around a curve where some construction was going on and ran off the road. One of the metal suitcases in his back seat flew forward and broke his neck. The museum is still operating and is a humble piece of awesomeness that everyone ought to visit.