Identities

I never asked for your identity,
Since I was thinking at the time about
How much you looked like some queer British tout,
Dispensing racing odds for a small fee,
While you thought similar thoughts about me.
You might have noticed I've grown grey and stout,
Though not quite where we'll be expecting gout,
And nothing, nowhere, any time, is free.

Together, we were travelling alone,
Untethered to each other, or a star,
No goals, an empty peanut butter jar
Our only souvenir. That set the tone
For those adventures. Now we're both all grown,
So I still really don't know who you are.