Lovers in a re-run with a poet

We were in a Planet of the Apes movie running from a mob.  You were nursing someone's baby.  Keith Taylor was with us, he wore a white lab coat.  We fled up a high hill along a winding road that had been recently asphalted. The hill had been excavated, a huge gully of bare earth cut a dangerous angle down into the city. We came to a solitary structure, a church without a steeple, an abandoned big-box store. Was the baby an orangutang? The mob would soon approach. I knew this. I had already seen the movie. Our plan was to take the stairs up to the balcony. If we could just reach it maybe the mob would be too lazy to follow. Keith placed himself behind a counter and planned to use it as a pulpit from which to shout, "ape has killed ape!" hoping this would provide a distraction. Meanwhile at the far end of the balcony you began to page through some harlequin novels which you'd found on a small end-table. Things were falling apart fast. I needed to find a way to encounter the mole-men who were supposed to save us. They lived beneath the ruins of New York City with the last remaining Intercontinental Ballistic missile. Though they had plastic faces they were supposed to be helpful to humans. The warhead was still armed.