Homoioptoton (ho-mee-op-to’-ton): The repetition of similar case endings in adjacent words or in words in parallel position.
Note: Since this figure only works with inflected languages, it has often been conflated with homoioteleuton and (at least in English) has sometimes become equivalent to simple rhyme: “To no avail, I ate a snail.”
My head was big. My mother had to have a double-caesarean to get me out. It made her shout when they gave me the final tug. She yelled “Jesus Christ, what the hell happened? It felt like I gave birth to a friggin’ porpoise or a goddam piglet!” I just laid there with my head hanging off the side of the bed making chirping sounds. I never cried. I only chirped like a Chickadee—I went “Chicka-Dee-Dee-Dee.” My mother joked that she should feed me from a bird feeder instead of a bottle.
As I got older, my big head started to “ripen.” It hardened and turned pink like human flesh. Before it had changed color it was red and really scared other people. Because it was red, I think they thought it was some kind of bomb that was going to explode. As you can tell, my head never exploded.
Now that my head had turned flesh-colored, and was still very big, Coach Barker suggested that I try out for the wrestling team. He said my big head would be nearly impossible to put in a hold, and also, I could use my head as a sort of battering ram to knock opponents off balance and jump on them for the pin.
I was ready. I won my first match in 11 seconds. I did my “Big Head Butt” and cracked 2 of my opponent’s ribs. I repeated this move a half-dozen times before I was summarily banned from all high school sports—even track! The authorities felt my big head and aggressive demeanor were a concoction for trouble. It was bad enough that I had a big head, but being banned from sports was even worse.
As I got older I would get in fights in bars. Somebody would say something about my big head, like, “Is that a piece of dinosaur shit or your head?” I would go berserk and butt them to the floor and kick them repeatedly, until somebody pulled me off.
Then, I got a girlfriend. She had a big head too, but it wasn’t as big as mine. We took up clog dancing. We got quite good at it and turned professional. Our signature move involved balancing our heads and spinning around like human turntables making a noise simulating electric drills Then, we would turn a somersault, standing up, and dancing for another 5-10 minutes. We’d end by stopping dead and yelling “Guinness!” It was exhausting, but the room- temperature Guinness slid down like milk as smooth as silk putting us back on an even keel.
Rosie (my girlfriend) and I get married. We ‘re going to have a baby. The sonogram was troubling. The baby has a big head, but it is fragile like a giant Christmas tree ornament. I sing “Here Comes Santa Claus” to Rosie’s womb hoping it will help somehow.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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