An Apology

Oh! I'm very sorry! My mistake! My bad!
I thought we were going to listen to the birth of stars,
together,
a Radio Planet,
green screens and all.
But you didn't stop when I stopped.
At the foot of the hill,
You kept on going into the woods,
deeply,
into the echo-y box of trees.
Under your arm, a star chart.
in your pocket, a revolver.

I'm terribly sorry that I read you wrong.
Because, now I'm waiting,
in this nightclub of filth,
closed and sour,
dark and fake.
The machines are turned off and the
room smells like ruined liquor.

Was this the trap? Your plan?
to back off the gas at the critical
moment?
Well, I guess it doesn't matter now,
because you're there,
and I'm here,
but the least you could do
is grab an axe and
start digging,
because,
If we're not going up,
we need to go down.
This middle ground is making
me tired.