I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown.

I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown.

I am reading an article about high crimes in the south of France.

The couple next to me at Gate C-23 in the LaGuardia Airport is gently pecking each other with kisses. It's sweet. They must be mid-20s, both in hikers' boots and

gear. Backpacks rest at their feet. This seems normal and fitting behavior for a relationship

that appears in its early stages. Most of us look away, except for one woman nearby.

Her face says she's repulsed by this public display of affection,

this explicit performance of fondness.

She's not alone though.

Many people do not want to be subjected to other people's deep passions.

Then again, many people do not care. Personally, I am not

bothered. There's enough malice going around. A little public doting paints the air with a tenderness,

one that reminds me that other positive forces are at work in our world.

In an earlier time, we call forces are at work in our world.

In an earlier time, we called it necking.

Others prefer the phrases canewdling, smooching, making out, and the less dignified yet funny sucking face.

Today's poem reminds us that kissing is universal, but also something that is not taught.

And so we fumble our way through

until we get it right.

First Kiss by Ruzia Mahossessi.

I wish someone had explained how wide to open for that French kiss,

how to keep my front teeth out of his way.

...