An ode to old age

There's quite an art to falling apart as the years go by, and life doesn't begin at 40 that's a big fat lie. My hair's getting thinner, my body is not, the few teeth I have are beginning to rot. I smell of Vick's-Vapo-Rub, not Chanel # 5, my new pacemaker's all that keeps me alive. When asked of my past, every detail I'll know but what was I doing 10 minutes ago? Well, you get the idea, what more can I say? I'm off to read the obituary like I do every day. If my names not there, I'll once again start perfecting the art of falling apart.